Dreamers Often Lie
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: RusAme, Human AU: Alfred comes home after a long absence to find that his mother had found him the "perfect girl". She doesn't realise that his interests lie elsewhere. Not wanting to displeases family, he agrees to meet the girl and discovers that her brother could possibly be the perfect man. Perfect enough to risk losing both their families and their homes. T/M rating - COMPLETE
1. Home, But Not Really

_I do not own Hetalia._

_Warning: dark themes up ahead. _

* * *

Home,

But Not Really

Alfred didn't know what he was expecting when he came home for the holidays. Maybe his mother would present him with an assortment of flowers from her obsessive botany collection, his father would ruffle his hair endearingly, and his twin brother would give him a grin. Billy and Sarah, the local newscasters of their small, small town would wish everyone a Merry Christmas over the fluctuation airwaves. The house would smell of baked bread and the snow would drift lazily outside. It would be a happy, uneventful time to rest.

Alfred received none of that.

When he came home, tapping on the door and holding his suitcase behind him, the door swung open. His mother beamed, her cheeks winter pink. Alfred smiled and embraced her with one arm. He awaited the greeting or the "I miss you".

Instead, his mother pecked his cheek and whispered excitedly "I found the girl just for you!"

Alfred's grin faded. "You did?"

She led him in, turning away. She had permed her bleached hair so it looked like several deep-fried curls against a dust-coloured head. She had gained some weight as well. Alfred followed her, listening to what she said.

"Look at you, already getting on in years and you _still _haven't even found a single girl! I thought you were crazy. Then, you went off to college and got busy. I'm sure you're settled now. I kept thinking, why weren't you settling? And I found the answer!"

Her hazel eyes flicked towards him.

"What would that be?" Alfred asked weakly, stopping by his old room. His mother held his winter coat and blue silk scarf. That should have been an obvious clue. He was interested in what she had to say. Had she found out? If she did, no way would she have been this cheerful.

She took a deep breath. "You're _shy_! You silly boy, thought your ma didn't know? I did, and now I've found you a nice girl. And she's foreign. You'll meet her tomorrow. I know, you can barely wait. For now just settle in, sweetheart, and come down for dinner." She prattled on, walking away from him and down the long hallway.

"Oh, ma…" he said under his breath.

For the past three years he had been fully employed as an actuary for various companies. It was dull at times, but he liked numbers. They were straightforward puzzles with no double meanings or secrets stored away in the folds of their essences. The work also let him tear away from the crushing fact that he had never kissed, let alone dated, another person.

He wanted to venture to bars and clubs whenever the pain of loneliness grew too great for him to bear. But he had to leave each time he came close because the pressing fact that the person he would spend the night with he may never see again.

The fact was, he didn't know what to do. Now he was settled. Just as his mother said, he couldn't be alone for much longer. It was time to find a partner. At that Alfred should have rejoiced, thrown a party, and bent to his knees to await the glimmering chance that a wonderful woman would become his bride.

He didn't want that, however.

Alfred slumped down on his bed. He lay down, looking up at a blown-up poster of his favourite actor. His chiseled jaw and honey-coloured eyes pointed slightly away from the camera. His hair was swept back in a permanent breeze. Alfred remembered staying awake at night, looking up, and wanting to kiss those pastel lips.

He wanted to marry a man, not a woman. It was who he was, how he was born, and no one but a few close friends knew. He felt as though he was living in a cell the consistently grew smaller and smaller, until it would eventually suffocate him. He had to tell his parents. Not that it would end well.

"Alfred, dear." His mother called.

Alfred sat up on his bed and moved sluggishly towards her.

She looked away from his dismayed, tortured expression as if she didn't see it. Or maybe she didn't want to see it. She prattled again about what a gorgeous pick she had made. How happy Alfred could be. What an adorable couple the two would make. Alfred half-listened, nodding when he needed to and omitting any comments.

His brother, who happened to share Alfred's attraction as twins were bound to, gave him a sympathetic smile. He rubbed the ring on his finger, rotating left than right. Their father next to him sat grinning.

"You'll be happily married just like your brother. Now, if only he could bring his fiancée home." Ma said. Ironically, Matthew hadn't proposed to anyone. He was proposed to, and madly in love. No one needed to know the details, however.

"I told you, _she _has her own family to go to." Matthew said softly. "She's not part of ours yet."

Alfred could see the pain clearly established across his face. He felt sorry and offered him a pat on the arm under the table. Matthew nodded discretely. He had changed since Alfred lost saw him a few months previous. His hair had been cut shorter so it no longer could be tied back. His glasses were no longer the ugly bottle-cap shape, but rather a delicate, golden wire. He dressed far more neatly as well.

Matthew shared a similar feeling when he passed glances at Alfred. Alfred had styled his hair, exposing how truly handsome his angular face was, along with its plumy lips and piercing blue eyes. Alfred twisted his lips constantly and bit them, portraying his nervousness like a beacon whirling in the middle of a stormy sea.

"Boys?" Matthew and Alfred turned towards their father.

The big man's grin had eloped again. His hard eyes concentrated on them. The wrinkles on his face became pronounced, as if he had to dig into the layers of time to uncover each thought. "I'm proud of you."

Before the boys could bow their heads in thanks at the uncovered emotion, which their father hid away with a grim glower, their mother broke in.

"Aren't we! Two normal boys."

Matthew and Alfred cringed inwardly.

She continued, "Did you hear about your cousin Martha?"

Matthew's cheeks flushed. Alfred shook his head innocently. Oh shit.

"Well, her mother, my blessed sister, found her with one of her close _female _friends. And they were…" She shut her eyes. "It pains me to think about it."

Their father remained silent. Alfred felt a rare spark of intense love for him.

"Well," Ma continued, "I'm just glad that she talked to her right away. Get rid of that unnatural problem, I say. What a sweet girl Martha was, too. She could sing pretty. But I knew the moment she started growing distant from her parents something was wrong. If only I knew how wrong, then I could have told your aunt. I'm sorry your mother was so ignorant."

Still is. Matthew mouthed to Alfred silently. Alfred choked back a giggle of panic and nervousness.

The thing with gay people, Alfred thought, was that no matter where the hell you went the prejudice and talk followed. He could be in a store when he spotted something mildly homo-romantic and then a crazy wave crashed on to the shore instantly. At school, at work, anywhere. Most eyes didn't turn to him, but those that did were scalding. It hurt.

News seemed to follow him like an ominous mist. Sitting with his family and watching television was now a risky game of _who'll get insulted first?_ Talking about normal things brings it up. If they hated it so much, why did they keep talking about it?

Alfred felt Matthew pinch his forearm sharply.

"You ok, dear?" Ma asked.

Alfred looked into her concerned eyes. His cheeks felt hot. "Oh, yeah, I'm still warming up to the inside. I walked a little ways to get here." Even in a small town that excuse worked. Maybe even better because cars were a rarity.

"Then let's get you some nice warm tea and put you to bed. I'm sure you miss your old room. I haven't touched a thing." She ushered Alfred to go take a warm bath, chiding him all the way.

Within an hour, Alfred was sitting on his bed next to Matthew. Snow continued to twirl outside, dotting the windowpane and painting the rural scene outside like a fantasy. Matthew turned to Alfred.

Alfred smiled at him.

"How's it going?" Matthew's voice treaded by softly. No harsh tones.

"It's fine. I like my job."

"What about your social life?"

"I've got friends."

"No dates?"

Alfred shook his head, feeling embarrassed and left behind. Here was his brother, dating since ninth grade, a platinum gay (never touched a girl, never kissed one even), and now happily engaged to the second boyfriend he ever had. The ring was produced on a beach of all places.

"You're handsome, though." Matthew retorted. "I thought everyone would be all over you."

"No."

"Not even women?"

"Unless they're my friends, I don't really take care to notice."

"I'm surprised. The ugly one is getting married first."

"Ugly? Like hell you are."

He playfully punched Matthew's shoulder. Matthew laughed and hit him back. The mood shifted again. Matthew pulled it back down to the bottom of a deep sea Alfred never wanted to even test with his toes.

Matthew wrapped his arms around his knees. "What are you doing tomorrow, then?"

Alfred rolled it over in his mind, cracking his knuckles. "I think I'll just say I'm not interested and pretend I don't like her at all."

"That's the easy way. But what if you do like her?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if she's a nice, smart girl that would be a great friend?"

"Then I'll say I'll be friends with her. And I won't marry her or get involved. I guess that gives ma some unjust false hopes."

"Then she might all in love with you. What will you do then, break her heart?"

Alfred fell silent. He hated to hurt people. When he did, usually on accident, he never quite finished feeling horrible for it. He met Matthew's dark eyes.

"Then I'll reject her either way. Who knows, maybe she's a dyke and we can get along better." Alfred said.

They moved on from that topic. They caught up on each other, joked, laughed, and eventually grew too tired and warm to leave the room. Alfred tossed Matthew a pillow and they slept on the bed with a hero emblem printed on the front, the covers thrown haphazardly over the both of them. Matthew's long legs stuck out at one end, curling in the light chill. The house cackled in the frosty night, as if snoring too.

Alfred was home, but not really. Who he truly was was not welcome here. He had to pick up a guise at the front step and throw it on, so no one would suspect. So old hatreds wouldn't arise. So he could be safe.


	2. The Bride's New Gown

The Bride's New Gown

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"Good, good."

Her eyes gazed not at him but through him. Her lips curled into a brief smile. Alfred could tell Natalia was more uncomfortable than even he was. He could hear his mother shuffling in the kitchen, stealing glances their way every few seconds. His father had taken Matthew to his workplace to meet someone. And here was Alfred, meeting a woman he didn't really like. She was supposed to be accompanied by her brother, but he and her older sister were running late. She apologised several times for that before falling completely silent.

Natalia shifted on the chair, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"Do you live here?" She asked, her accent floating through vowels like a cool breeze.

"No, I'm here to visit."

"You visit your mother often?"

"I try to." Alfred said. Natalia nodded.

She was a beautiful young woman, Alfred couldn't deny that. Her beauty was not what he would call "pretty" however. She was built strong and wiry, having grown up in a dense forested area in Eastern Europe. Her face was slender, smooth, and brushed with light pink at the lips and cheeks. Her hair, the colour of a bird's downy fluff, was pulled back into a long braid, the tip curling towards her white paints. Her shirt was light blue. She didn't seem able to commit to dark or full hues.

"You're quite lovely." Alfred attempted to make conversation.

He could tell she wanted to get it over with as well.

"Thank you." She said with a bow of her head.

She paused, as if deciding on what to do. She didn't appear accustomed to a stranger's kindness.

"You are too." She said at last.

"Thanks. I try. Though most of my friends mock me for spending too much time on my hair. I have to wake up super early to get it done."

"Oh?" She said, taking interest.

"Yeah. Take a guess how long it takes." Alfred grinned.

She wrung her fingers together. "An hour?"

"No. Guess again."

"Two?"

"Two and a half."

"What do you do with that time? Your hair is so short." She said, smiling politely. Her eyes glittered in amusement.

"First I wash it, then I wait, then I apply this fab—" She raised her eyebrows. "fantastic gel," he corrected himself, feeling red flush through his cheeks, "It's called 'Fantastic Gel for Men', which helps me keep it erect."

"Erect?"

"It means standing." Alfred said in a near-whisper.

"Oh." She said.

"Yes, it's a bit older English so I wouldn't use it in front of most people."

"I was taught English and German in school." She said.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"It was useful."

That was the last of Natalia's past that Alfred would hear for a long time.

"I took Spanish and all I remember is the word for butterfly."

Her smile glimmered, but faded away quickly. She smiled the way people do when they attempt to hide the cracks and tears in their spirits, or when they are about to cry. Her eyes remained dry. She moved her hands and pushed them under her thighs, hunching her shoulders forwards.

Alfred curled his lower lip in and sucked on it. He wondered where to take the conversation next. He didn't have to, because there was a knocking on the door. His mother went to answer it.

Natalia looked up. She said something in what Alfred assumed was Russian. He turned and saw two rather impressively large people standing at the door.

"Sorry for being late." The older sister replied, her accent more potent than her sister's.

"Don't worry, it's no problem. Come, sit down." Alfred said, gesturing to the couch.

The woman, named Katrina, walked in and sat down next to Natalia. Her brother followed, firmly shaking Alfred's hand. Alfred was afraid that his heart could just about shatter at the electric touch. The man was like nothing Alfred had ever seen. He towered above him, his smooth face framed by frail tufts of hair, the colour of ice-caps and winter dreams. His eyes were like the cosmos. Something otherworldly surrounded him, Ivan, and Alfred had to peel his eyes away from him. His mouth felt dry. Ivan returned a similar, awestruck expression hidden beneath layers of disguises in his eyes. His mouth remained impassive.

"How do you like my little sister?" Katrina asked, tossing a meaty arm around Natalia's small shoulders. She hugged her tightly.

The siblings looked nothing alike, but they were obviously raised together. Around them, hanging like a shroud or possibly thick mist, was an air of suffering fused with a nutty taste of the woodlands, of home, of culture, or human spirit. Katrina and Ivan were both large hawks compared to their sparrow of a sister.

Natalia sat huddled between the two, in the shadow of Katrina's full, scenery-consuming figure. Katrina's hair was cut as short as her brother's, with small clips pushing her bangs to the side. Her face was round and her cheeks shiny, with two plump lips and eyes like gems.

"She's very kind," Alfred said, struggling not to look at Ivan.

_Get it together. _He told himself, regaining his composure. _After this I won't see any of them again. _

"Hopefully," Ivan said, "She could make as a nice bride. She has an unworn dress, still new."

Oddly enough, his English was the best out of all of them.

Alfred swallowed. "Oh? Excited?"

Katrina pressed her lips together. She pulled her hand from behind her sister's back. "No, it was a gift." She said, beaming. "For a wedding she was supposed to have."

Katrina seemed incapable of lying.

"Ah—Alfred?" Natalia perked up. "May I got get a glass of water? I will get you some as well."

"I can get some." Alfred stood up. Her eyes begged him to let her go. "But if you want to, you can also talk with my Ma."

"Thank you." She said, shuffling away. She disappeared behind the white wall, her feet padding gently across the kitchen tile.

Ivan leaned back, throwing his arms across the back of the couch. He crossed his legs, taking up space. Alfred didn't mind.

"She can be so cold." He said.

"Really? She seems shy to me."

Katrina looked at the two of them. "She takes some getting used to."

"I guess you protect her, then?" Alfred blurted out.

Ivan shrugged. "In a way." He said leisurely. "She's fierce, she can protect herself. She just has been wounded. She'll heal, but not for a while."

"Oh."

"If you become her husband, that will be your job." Katrina asserted.

Ivan waved her off. They spoke in muted tones. Alfred wouldn't have understood anyway. He politely turned away, crossing his legs as well and tucking his hands under his knee. Ivan's eyes flew to him occasionally, followed by a nice little smile, as if it was afraid to appear, and then they returned to an aloof look. He spoke in gentle terms to his beloved sister.

Natalia returned with a tray. She set it on the coffee table and served Alfred a cup of water and herself as well. Two others waited untouched on the marble tray, decorated with blue birds and a large, cursive 'Home, Sweet Home'.

The spoke for some time about useless, small things until;

"We better go." Ivan said, standing up. Natalia followed, pulling her braid over her shoulder and looking defiant. She turned to Alfred.

"Thank you for meeting me." She said, extending her hand. He shook it gently.

Katrina embraced him, nearly suffocating him in the process. Alfred turned to Ivan next, his face flushed. He extended his hand. Ivan looked at it.

"Shall we meet again?" He grabbed Alfred's palm. Alfred felt woozy.

"What? Oh—Yes!" He said, then wished he could snatch his enthusiasm from the air and swallow it. He must have looked like an excited child. Ivan curled his fingers around Alfred's hand.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my sister's company."

He didn't let go.

"I enjoyed all of your company." Alfred said, nodding. His glasses felt like they would slide off his face at any moment. But his hand was busy being engulfed in the warmest, strongest, most electrifying handshake he had ever experienced.

"'_You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.'_"

Alfred stared blankly. "Huh?" Then, it struck him. He grinned. "'_Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn.'_"

"I see you're experienced with Shakespeare."

"Why wouldn't I? I played Benvolio in High School, Romeo and Juliet. That's my favourite scene."

"I see. I played Romeo."

Alfred couldn't tear away from Ivan. Ivan shook his hand gruffly and let go. Alfred wondered if that was how trees felt when their leaves departed.

"You can experience your manly friendship later," Katrina beckoned.

Natalia crossed her arms. Her expression was painted with skepticism. Alfred gave her a friendly shrug. Ivan patted Alfred's shoulder.

"Let's meet again. How about you come to a cafe next week?"

"Which? I like Tender Tea." Alfred said.

Natalia shrugged. "We haven't been there yet."

"It sounds lovely." Katrina agreed.

"See you then." Alfred said. Ivan shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded.

After Alfred shut the door, trapping the cold air outside, his mother rushed up to him. She saw his tinted cheeks and dreamy, lazy expression and sighed in relief. "Finally." She muttered. Alfred could only embrace her. He could feel the ghost of Ivan's touch on his palm.

She patted his head when he stooped to hug her. "Oh, my boy, you finally found the one."

"I think I did." Alfred said.

She let go of him.

That night, Alfred and Matthew met up in Matthew's old room. Alfred lay on his back, describing the events. Matthew sat propped up against a mountain of pillows. The walls of his room were decorated with math and geography posters. The trademark of a smart kid who had no time for social activity. And yet he was more popular than Alfred was. Goes to show that stereotypes can only capture the filmy layer of mirage a person puts up for themselves. Not the real, deeper being.

"Sounds like you enjoyed it." Matthew said.

"Oh, I did. He was so smart and handsome." Alfred whispered. He took off his glasses and set them aside, shutting his eyes.

Matthew smiled and nudged him with his toe. Alfred batted at him lazily.

"Ma must have thought that girl had you crazy."

"She did."

"What will you say?"

"I don't care." Alfred breathed.

Matthew sighed, letting go of laughter. "Did you like her?"

"She's nice. I think she has some personal problems she needs to go through privately, and I'm not the person to help her."

"You could be a friend."

"She wants a husband."

Matthew tilted his head back. He paused in his next comment, his eyes landing on the faded yellow map across the room.

"Where did you say they were from?"

"Russia, I think."

"You do realise they don't take kindly to…"

Alfred slapped a hand over his face. "Oh, shit, I forgot. I thought that… Oh, dammit, I'm so stupid."

Matthew bent forwards and rubbed his brother's arm. "No, I don't mean—Al, I'm sorry. Maybe they aren't that way. Maybe they are good people. You do realise that good people exist everywhere, just as bad people exist everywhere, unbound by background. It's who they are, not what they are."

"I know that."

"And?"

Alfred turned over on his side. He glowered over his bent arm. "I'm so unlucky."

"Don't say that."

"Yes I am. I come across the perfect guy and he may not even have the notion that he likes me."

"Al, he quoted _Shakespeare _at you."

"What does that signify?"

Matthew frowned.

Alfred's eyes grew sadder. "Matt?"

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is the world so cruel sometimes?"

"Like I know."

"You're the smart one."

"You're smart too. It just means I'm aware of how much I don't know."

"Please, don't bring Socrates into this."

"I'm not."

Alfred snorted in laughter. His American flag shirt had ridden up to his belly. He pulled it down.

"What if our parents knew?"

"They'd beat us with a broom and belt."

"No, if they were okay with knowing."

Matthew eyed his brother for some time, listening to the grandfather clock tick time away and the late evening news chatting about several puppies saved from the nearby river. The sounds of home. Soon they would be gone and he would hear his fiancé's favourite show and have his arm around him. Matthew checked his phone and saw a message from him.

'Miss you'

'I miss you too, love'

Matthew turned back to Alfred, who had watched the transaction with vicarious happiness.

"I think it would be easier for sure." Matthew said.

"Can you even imagine that?"

"Not really."

They fell silent again. Matthew responded to two more texts before Alfred spoke up again. Matthew's heart stretched in longing. Why were the people he loved so far apart? Why couldn't he bring his partner home? Matthew brushed the questions away, hid them under a rug with the rest of the dust accumulated over the years.

Alfred turned to him.

"You could bring him home."

Matthew turned away.

"I could."

"Would Ma like him?"

"Maybe."

Alfred smiled. "It's harder to run away than we thought."

Matthew pulled the covers up and shut off the light. "So much harder."

Alfred stood up, patting Matthew's shoulder. "Good night."

"Night."

Alfred went down the hall to his room, feeling disappointment ringing through his bones like waves of torture. The touch he felt, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted to be in those big arms, to hear the smart, eloquent speech, to savour the heart of another. And yet, it was scampering so far away from the range of possibility. Alfred shut the door to his room, and to his dread.


	3. Memoirs

Memoirs

_A memory: _

Sitting three seats to the left of Alfred in his ninth grade history class was a boy named Richard Stormy. They called him Ricky Storm sometimes. In his head, Alfred called him Ricky Dicky. Why? Because he was an inappropriate fourteen year old who was struggling with a crush so big it threatened to quite literally crush him. They called it that for a reason, Alfred realised.

One morning, late autumn, the teacher stood in the front. She leaned against her desk, her long fingers curled into a fist on the corner. She began to talk about influential figures in history: religious figures, war leaders, presidents, kings, so on, and what affect they had on the world.

During this time, Alfred considered whether or not to write an anonymous love letter to Ricky. He could spill his guts and use twirly, decorative handwriting to disguise his identity. What would Ricky do? He would be flattered, maybe, but wouldn't he want to seek out the "girl" who wrote that to him? And, Alfred's mind buzzed with excitement, what if he framed some girl and Ricky found her and said, openly, that he wasn't interested in girls. Then Alfred could swoop in and claim his prize.

_This woman, she's been wrongly accused. _

_How so, dear gentleman? _

_Why, she never did write a letter of such longing. I doubt she would be capable of it, even. _

_Then who did…?_

_Me, my darling Richard. _

Ricky would gaze long, warmly into Alfred's eyes. He would reach forwards, brush a strand of straw-coloured hair away, and lean in for a kiss. Alfred would wrap his arms around Ricky's small waist, pull him closer. In front of so many pairs of eyes. Maybe some would swoon, or smile, or roll their eyes. Who cared? They would kiss, a burst of electricity ripping through space and time.

And then they could sleep under the stars, flesh that desires flesh. Desperate, young, foolish love.

Oh, yes.

"Alfred?"

Alfred looked away dreamily from his desk, where his finger had been tracing a heart. He locked eyes with the teacher and his face flushed.

"Yes?"

"Instead of falling into a doze, where I'm sure lovely dreams graced your mind, why don't you head on to your next class?" Despite her cold words, her tone was warm, welcoming.

Alfred stood up, now noticing that the class had emptied of everyone. Even Ricky. No, especially Ricky.

"Did you hear the assignment?" She asked.

Alfred looked at the board and jotted it down in a notebook. He had to choose an influential person and write a short essay on how their role in society affected today's world. Simple enough, Alfred thought. He could ask Matthew for help in any case.

"There was one other thing I meant to ask you."

"Yes?" Alfred hugged his books to his chest, adjusting his glasses with his free hand.

She smiled warmly, the thin lines at her cheeks creasing. Her hair was auburn in the sunlight, and loose in a forest of slick curls. Alfred liked her, more so than other teachers. "Are you interested in forming a club? Or do you take sports here?"

"No, I don't take sports anymore. I used to play baseball and track last year. I don't think I'll do anything this year." Alfred paused. "Wait, a club?"

"Yes."

"What kind?"

"Any kind you want, Alfred. I'd be happy to support and advise it. You need a teacher to make a club."

"Um, thanks."

Something in her eyes showed him that she knew. It made him both uncomfortable and completely at peace with the world. Not for some time would anyone else know about his sexuality. He had buried it deeply in his spirit, under memories and crushes, and whispered voices with their words forgotten but with tones etched in deeply.

And now his history teacher had uncapped it, letting a little of his personality shine through. He didn't have to hide. At least, not all the time.

"I'll write you a pass." She turned towards her desk. Alfred pressed his lips into a smile.

_Another memory: _

In the cubicle across from him was Stacey. Stacey was average by every definition. Alfred had a position higher than her, but she wasn't bad at what she did. She wasn't great at it, either. She had a round face with inoffensively cut brown hair and an average body weight and an average figure. But she was nice. A bit boring, but caring and genuine all the same.

And she also deeply enjoyed Alfred's company. Or seemed to. Alfred wasn't very good at picking up such signals.

During break time, Alfred left his seat to eat the salad he packed in the canteen area. He chose a seat near the door so he didn't have to waste time. He popped open the plastic container and began to eat, humming to himself.

An older coworker, Jennifer, plumped down across from him. She grinned.

"So, Alfred. How are you?"

Alfred looked at her curiously. Her phenix eyes glittered in amusement. "I'm fine. You?"

"Fine, fine." She said, nodding.

"What is it?" Alfred asked impatiently, watching her fidget.

She raised her eyebrows, as if there was absolutely nothing on her mind. Her visage didn't last long and she bent forwards, resting her chin on her palm.

"Do you have a girlfriend? A handsome man like you must have one?"

Well, wasn't this awkward, Alfred thought. He focused his energy into not crimsoning.

"No, not at the moment."

"So you're single?"

"Yes." At least he wasn't lying.

"Well, I don't think that would last long."

"Why?"

"Know Stacey?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think of her?"

"She's… nice."

"Is she pretty?"

"I guess."

"You guess? So you like her!"

Alfred shrugged. If he said he didn't like her, she would ask why, and then he would have to fabricate some excuse. Plot holes in his lies would bubble to the surface like boiling water. She would discover him. He could be denied a better position. Or she wouldn't speak to him ever again. The routes it would go stretched endlessly. And yet his mind never trailed to the gilded route of acceptance that Jennifer may have treaded on.

"She's really very sweet, and she thinks highly of you."

"That's nice."

"You're so cute!"

"Thank you."

"How about I bring her over so you can talk?"

Before Alfred could respond, Jennifer had hopped up and rushed away to bring Stacey over. Alfred slumped forwards, munching quietly on his salad. He didn't want to hurt her.

Stacey was brought over. She smiled at him. She had dyed her hair with blond highlights.

"I have to go." Alfred said, standing up.

Her face fell.

"My break is over." He said.

"Can't we talk for a minute? You just got here." She said politely.

"I guess I can."

He sat down. Jennifer winked at him from across the room. Alfred avoided her eyes. Stacey laced her fingers under her chin.

"Are you friends with Jennifer?" She asked.

"I guess."

Stacey turned her eyes down.

"I'm sorry. She wanted me to come talk to you."

"Don't worry, it's fine. It can get lonely sometimes."

"I can understand that."

Stacey watched as Alfred stabbed at his lettuce haphazardly. His mind trailed elsewhere, namely to a handsome young trainee walking past them.

"Um, Alfred?"

"Yes?" Alfred turned back, hoping she hadn't seen.

"Do you know if Jennifer is married?"

"She's engaged." Alfred said.

"Oh."

"He's a pretty nice guy. I wouldn't worry about her."

"I see. He's lucky, then."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. The pieces were falling into place.

"He's pretty good looking. I met him at the barbecue the company held."

"So this is one of _those _workplaces." She laughed.

"Kind of boring." Alfred joined her in laughter.

Stacey nodded, brushing hair behind her ear.

"What about Autumn?"

"Her?" Alfred tipped his chin towards a woman sitting with Jennifer.

"Yes."

"I don't know. I don't talk to her often."

"Is she prettier than Jennifer?"

"I… I wouldn't know." Alfred admitted quietly.

"I think Jennifer is pretty attractive." Stacey admitted just as quietly.

"She's nice."

Alfred then felt the gears click into place and begin whirring.

"You're?"

Stacey smiled. "Yes."

"And you know I'm…?"

"It's pretty obvious."

"Is it?"

Stacey nodded. She stood, adjusting her uniform jacket and brushing her hair over to one shoulder.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to put our budding friendship on pause so I can go tell Jennifer that we'll be married in March."

"Wait—No!" Alfred stood up and followed her.

_A thought: _

Alfred kept a journal. In an entry about two months before he met Ivan, he naively wrote:

_You know, people aren't too bad. There are some real nice spirits in the world. _


	4. Me?

Me?

"He's late."

"It's been two minutes."

Ivan grunted testily. Katrina sighed, fed up with dealing with her moody brother. She turned over in her cafe seat to greet Natalia with a smile. Natalia didn't return the pleasantries. She crossed both her legs and arms, poised on the elevated seat, and looked anywhere but at another human being.

Katrina patted Ivan's back. "It's almost like you want to see him." She said.

Ivan didn't return her gaze. He shook his head. "No. I want Natalia to be happy, he's a good contender, and frankly I abhor it when people are late to their meetings."

"It's early."

"Early my ass."

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Ivan…"

"What is it, Katyusha?"

"Oh be quiet!" She said, but gently.

It took another three minutes for Alfred to arrive. He walked into the store, bundled in a light blue silk scarf and a designer jacket. His hair had been slicked back and, when he smiled, a dimple appeared on his right cheek. Ivan bit his tongue.

Alfred walked over, shaking his head. He handed Natalia a paper bag stuffed with pink tissue paper. He apologised nearly a dozen times for being late, shaking his head. "I wanted to get her a gift. I couldn't find the right thing."

"It's fine." Ivan said stiffly.

"Don't worry! It's been only ten minutes." Katrina insisted. A crowd began to merge in the cafe.

Alfred nodded meekly. He watched Natalia open her gift. She dug through the tissue and found a pair of sleek silver shoes. Her eyes widened. "I can't accept this." She breathed.

Alfred shook his head, waving his hands. "Hey, it's gift for a friend."

"No—they are too expensive." She held them back to him.

"I'll be offended if you don't take them."

Natalia quieted at that and sat quietly, holding them close to her chest.

For the next half hour, they talked over coffee. Ivan had two cups and Alfred had only half a cup. Alfred cranked up his charm, sparing Natalia with a few pointed looks (and Ivan with sneaky, lovelorn gazes from under his eyelashes). He wanted to be nice to Natalia, at the very least.

Maybe heartbreak would be easier.

Or harder, actually.

Alfred, in reality, had no clue what he was doing.

However, it worked because Ivan invited him out for a drink and a pat on the back.

"The brother ought to know what his sister's getting in too." He said.

And maybe it was a wild hope, or maybe it was true, but Alfred detected a note of sarcasm in the dreamy, echoey voice. As well as a flick of the eyes down. As well as a half-shielded smirk. Alfred swooned all the way home.


	5. Burning

_Warning: strong language in the seas._

* * *

Burning

Alfred sipped at his scotch, catching Ivan's gaze between snippets of conversation. Sometimes Ivan smiled at him. At others his face remained free of emotion. Alfred wondered what it was like to be vacant of any facial twitches, anything to betray his feelings. To have a mask that would never slip, that couldn't slip.

"You like to read?" Alfred asked.

Behind him the crowd surged with rowdy laughter at the television. Most of them were couples or young men. The town knew each other well. Several people had already passed by and greeted Alfred.

"Yes." Ivan said. "I read _War and Peace _when I was in twelve."

"In Russian or English?"

"Yes."

Alfred smirked. His gaze wandered to Ivan's lips. Thin, soft. Alfred peeled his eyes away. Ivan leaned his head on the bar table.

"Do you have a good job?"

"As an actuary."

"Good. Good money?"

"I suppose so. Well, yes, but I live alone so it doesn't really matter."

"For now."

Alfred was briefly tempted into the mad illusion that Ivan had wanted to keep Alfred for himself. He dwelled in it for nearly a full minute before Ivan snapped him harshly back to reality.

"My sister enjoyed your company."

"We just met." Alfred said, a little too quickly.

Ivan noticed.

He shrugged. "Don't you believe in 'love at first sight'?"

"No." Alfred lied.

"I don't either. I think it's bullshit. How the hell do you know a person with one glance? Their personality? Their ticks? Their benefits? Their downfalls?" Ivan leaned in, awfully close to Alfred's cheek. "How good they are in bed?"

Alfred pulled away, grinning.

"Oh you can tell."

Ivan raised his eyebrows.

"The way they _look _at you. If they lick their lips. How they walk… If they limp." Alfred felt his heart rocket to the floor. Oh shit. And all that time he had been staring at Ivan dreamily, his hand itching to just touch.

Ivan seemed shocked, his eyes wide. "Limp?"

"You know," Alfred faltered, looking for a viable definition, "'Cause girls are, they…"

Ivan pressed his lips together.

"Have you slept with a woman before?"

"Have you?"

"I do believe I asked you first, and I'm sure your memory has yet to fail you." Ivan said languidly. He leaned closer to Alfred. As if they were sharing a big secret.

Alfred swallowed, then he decided it was best to tell the truth. He shook his head. "Never kissed one."

"That explains a good amount. Poor boy, ill experienced." Ivan chuckled. He fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a single motion. Alfred watched the burning ember dancing at his lips. It was gross. But he could live with it, right? Ivan plucked it from his lips and it dangled in-between his fingers, his wrist bent back.

"Now answer my question." Alfred said.

"Nerd." Ivan scoffed. He paused, collecting his thoughts, then gave Alfred a wink. "Three times."

"Different girl?"

"No, three different girls." Ivan said. Alfred wanted to leap off the stool and into an infinitely deep hole that would hopefully lead him to the end of the universe where he could burn shamefully, in peace.

"How many times?" Alfred tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"I lost count."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Wife?"

"No, I'm single."

Alfred almost sighed in relief. But that didn't change the fact that his hopes had been shattered with a sledgehammer. He curled and uncurled his fingers. He attempted to tease Ivan, but fell flat.

Ivan cleared his throat. "As a family, here's a secret, we've all had it bad in love."

"I heard." Ivan gave him a quizzical look. Alfred explained, "Your sister said that Natalia was about to get married before."

"Yes, that's right."

"And, um, sorry…"

"Don't be."

"I've had it hard with love too. I've never kissed anyone before."

"Natalia will be your first then."

"You're pretty bent on me getting with her."

"I want her to be happy."

"What if I'm not happy?"

"Then fucking reject her."

In only a moment Ivan had turned ice cold. His temperature plummeted. Alfred felt scared. Ivan stood, placing money on the table. "There's your drink. Think it over. Maybe your faggy brother would want a sip." Ivan spat. He turned and left, his hands deep in his pockets and his mauve scared billowing behind him.

Alfred rested his head on the table. All he could think was how accurately the guy who invented the word "heartbroken" was in describing the painful, throbbing emotion coursing through his chest. He felt like a weight had been slammed against him.

_Great not only is he not gay, he's a poser, he's a homophobe—which is a given, I guess—and he wants be to bang his sister. She's an object to him! He's a fucking cold, heartless asshole. That's what he is._

_So, _Alfred ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back, _why do I still feel the same way? _

_Because you're an idiot._

_Yeah, that's probably it._


	6. Pure Truth

Pure Truth

Matthew heard Alfred enter the house, greet their mother tersely, and then vanish into one of the rooms. Their mother called for Alfred a few times, wandering down the halls. A door shut and Alfred yelled an even curter reply back. Their mother gave up and left him.

"Babe, is something wrong?" The quiet voice tickled his ear through the phone.

Matthew sighed. "Yeah, it's fine. My brother got back from his date."

"I guess it didn't go well."

"Yeah…"

"I think you should go talk to him."

"And leave you?"

"He's your brother."

"Okay, baby, talk later. Love you."

"Love you too."

Matthew turned off the phone, smiling faintly. A warm feeling, like doves escaping their cage, filled his chest. It felt good to be loved and to love. Matthew tucked his phone into his pocket and left his room.

Mother looked at him. "What's gotten into him?" She asked. "Do you know?"

"No, I'm going to see, ma. Just wait a sec."

"OK. He went into the guest room."

Matthew smiled. "His favourite place."

His mother smiled. They both brought back memories, not so fondly. Rainy days when school was especially cruel to him, snowy days when he felt upset, sunny days when he hated the world with bile-flavoured passion. Alfred would shut himself in the almost never used guest room. He would perch on the bed or the convex windowsill and ponder, his head buried in his hands. He'd watch the snow, let it fall down in peppery flakes. To consume him. He let his vision focus on the capsule of light contained in that beam of sunshine or drop of rain, and let the darkness of the world encircle it. But not touch it.

"Matt?"

"Yeah, Ma?"

He faced his mother. Her face looked so old. Where did the time go?

"You know why I want Al to get married?"

"So he can be settled, maybe give you a few grandkids." Matthew said, trying to not sound sardonic. Instead he sounded even more cynical. He regretted it when he saw the wounded look cross his mother's eyes.

She didn't know better.

"No, honey." She approached him and spoke in a low voice. "I want him to be happy."

"Can't he be happy on his own?"

"How can you say that?" she exasperated. "I've heard how you talk with your lovely girl, how you coo to her. It's absolutely wonderful. Don't you want your brother to have the same thing? I thought you stopped being so selfish years ago."

Matthew was torn between spitting the truth out at his mother, telling her he was whispering sweetly to a man, and to speak to her kindly. Give her a break. Prolong the lie. He did neither.

"I'm going to talk to him."

"No, you will stand here and listen." She scolded.

Matthew froze reluctantly.

"I want someone to make him know that he is a good man, so he doesn't have to sit alone like that anymore."

Matthew allowed a brief smile to cross his lips.

"Thanks, ma. I'll let him know."

He went down the hall to the guest room. His mother behind him watched as he twisted and vanished down the corner. She left them, wondering how well she truly knew her sons. And why such a rift had broken open. There was a catch, and she didn't know, and didn't want to know, what it was.

Matthew shut the door behind him and walked in. Sure enough, Alfred sat at the windowsill, watching the freshly laden snow glitter against the ground. He rested his forehead on his palm. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes puffy. He had a tissue to his nose and periodically wiped at it. Tears still trickled down his face.

Alfred shifted his eyes with great heaviness towards his kindred spirit. Matthew approached him.

"Tell me what happened."

Alfred hesitated briefly. Then, he told Matthew everything. He spilled the entire date, the curse Ivan so kindly gave Matthew, the pain, the heartache, the sudden realisation of just how lonely, how lusty, how starved of affection he was.

"Oh God, Matt, I regret being so horrible. You have to have been there. How close he was. I regret it because I was so damn close. I could reach out and touch him, I could have been held in someone's arms tonight. I could be enveloped in someone's company. I've never had this feeling, this desire for flesh."

Matthew nodded, patting Alfred's back.

Alfred spared him a haunted look. Who knew such a trifle, such a small thing such as another person's affection was so hard to find, and mattered so much? That it was just as necessary and desperate as food or shelter.

"I don't get why I want it so bad. I can live alone, can't I?" Alfred spat.

"Don't lie to yourself." Matthew returned. "It's like stuffing yourself back in the closet. You are who you are and you accept it so you can love better, more freely, and more fully. Not so you can brandish it like a tag and boast about how different you are."

Matthew paused.

"Or give people a reason to beat the living shit out of you for being that way."

Alfred chuckled. It cracked through his sorrow. "I know."

"You know what?"

"That I'm a terrible liar. And yet I always try and believe myself."

They fell silent. The twins didn't need to talk. They understood each other. They had known the other's gaze, feel, eyes, bad times, and good times as deeply, if not more, than how they knew themselves. In this bond silence was more than enough to communicate the complicated feelings like hidden like a tangle of webs stuffed into the dark corners of the mind.

Eventually Matthew rose as Alfred calmed down.

"What will you do now?"

Alfred shrugged.

"Well I'll tell you. Call the girl over, Natalia, and tell her you won't lead her on." Matthew said.

Alfred pressed his lips into a tight line.

Matthew glowered.

"You were going to do that, right?"

"Well, I was…"

"Well, now you are." Matthew said back.

The thing about men like Matthew, Alfred thought, was that they were the most terrifying. They were gentle, patient, kind. But when they grew angry it accumulated over time, all the hurts and all the cuts, and then they exploded out of nowhere. It was terrifying. Alfred repeated the thought. Terrifying. He didn't like seeing Matthew's tone grow cold and his eyes flame.

Alfred nodded stiffly. He agreed to telling her. Matthew made him call. Alfred reluctantly took the phone and dialled the number he had easily committed to memory. He waited as the phone buzzed. Finally, Natalia picked up. He asked her to come over the next day. No explanations, no remorses. She said she would.

"Come alone."

A pause.

"Good. Bye, see you then."

Alfred handed Matthew his phone.

Matthew gave him a hard look.

"If you chicken out I swear I'll beat you half to death with a hockey stick."

Alfred laughed. Matthew softened. The date was set. And only when Alfred went to bed did he feel the dread rising in his throat, along with a fresh wave of tears.


	7. Ice Queen

Ice Queen

"Let's take a walk." Alfred said stiffly, ushering Natalia away from his house.

She had only arrived and, abruptly turned, favoured Alfred with a skeptical grimace. She wore her hair up under a white cap, which matched her robust mink coat. It would have been too heavy had the weather not been so unforgiving.

They walked for some time through the icy roads. Glittering white masses hung on the wiry branches, pulling them down. Icicles fell down like tear drops on the sides of homes and various wooden wheelbarrows or sheds littered across lawns. The sky had taken a pensive shade of white, occasionally spitting flurries down to paint a new layer of snow had any of it melted in the harsh light.

Natalia enjoyed the scenery quietly, letting Alfred lead her past homes towards an expanse of park. The set down a dirt path, towards an icy lake. Alfred held his hands deep in his pockets, his breath coming out in little puffs. He appeared bent on something that Natalia could not configure.

Once they reached the lake, Alfred took a deep breath and stopped.

"Do you like it?"

Natalia nodded. "It is very beautiful."

"When I was a kid my friends I and I would come by here in the summer and toy with the ducks. We'd throw them stale bread and then try to catch them. I felt really guilty about it. So much that I convinced my friends to come back here in the winter and bury fresh bread in the snow, so the ducks would't have to deal with us." He smiled. "We weren't the brightest lightbulbs in the shed."

Natalia laughed.

"Sounds like your childhood was an adventure."

"In a way it was. In other ways it was like trying to get through hell without a guide."

"Oh?" Natalia turned to him.

Perfect. A segue had opened up for Alfred to take, and he hopped on it. He didn't want to let his brother down. He didn't look at her.

"I've had it rough because I'm different. This is a pretty blanch town. Everyone you see is or nearly is the same. The same skin tone, same background, same lifestyle. Anyone who is different isn't necessarily kicked out, but they're ostracised. They get shoved in a corner and ignored."

He paused, letting it sink in.

Natalia bit her lower lip. From this angle she looked like a queen freshly carved out of ice. Her eyelashes were dotted with flecks of snow, exposing glittering eyes, and full lips. Something was dangerously pretty about her. Alfred looked away.

"I never came out and said what was different about me. They could tell. The way I talked, dressed, looked, where I looked. It wasn't something anyone accepted. Back then especially. It was like trying to be a sheep in a field of goats. Not too different, but enough. Just different enough."

"Alfred…"

Alfred was preparing for his major reveal, his climax, and then the subsequent denouement. He turned to her. When he met her eyes for a terrifying moment he was afraid all his courage would be sapped away. It would be snatched by his morals, by his want to do good. For his fear of hurting other people.

He tried to hide it. He looked in her eyes, still dangling on that fear, and waited for her to speak. Perhaps only half a minute passed before she spoke, but it felt like an eternity. The seconds plodded by.

"If you are going to say you are afraid of me, or of someone else, go and say that. Do not be afraid. I will share a secret about myself to make you feel better."

At that moment Alfred knew Natalia was a much better person that he could ever even hope to be. He acquiesced.

"When I was seventeen I tried to run away to France." She said. She comfortably avoided telling him about her life before that. No context, no reasons. "I took a plain to Berlin and then I hopped on train after train. I had only a bag and a little bit of money. It was all I needed. On the train I began to think about what I had done. I started to regret it bitterly and I cried.

"The woman next to me stood and approached me. She put her hand on my back and told me not to cry. She spoke in German with an accent I barely understood—and I understood German even less. But I could make guesses and I could tell from the look in her eyes.

"I asked in my bad German if she spoke French, which I had taken in school. I wanted to understand her. Or maybe I wanted someone to understand me. You see, I was terribly distraught and I looked like a fool shedding tears so freely in public.

"She laughed and said she did. She spoke to me in French and asked what the problem was. I said I was running away. She clicked her tongue and said to me:

"'Ah, why do you run away? Don't you know the earth is circular? The further you go the closer you get back to home. You can never truly run away for home always calls.' I did not understand what she meant but I politely listened, if only she paid me some attention.

"As it turns out she was a gypsy who was born in Hungary. Her name was Elizaveta, and when I dream of her I dream of intense loving and something secretive and so lucidly real that I long to hop on that train for the off chance I might find her. I know I never can. She drifts with the wind.

"I was inspired by her loose lifestyle. I asked if I could join her and she said 'No you silly girl!' I was baffled. 'Don't you see? I have no home, that is why I run. There is nothing I can go back to so I am not running away. I am only moving. The road is my home, and even then it's more of a squatter's palace."

Natalia took a breath. Her eyes were dry. She gave Alfred a shy look. She had exposed herself openly to him. She had cracked ope the oyster, but only an inch, and given him a secret look at the pearl hidden within. She continued.

"We spoke some more and eventually she convinced me to get off the platform and return home. I did it. I think the same force that made me go in the first place dragged me home. She was happy at my decision and, for it, she gave me a part of herself." Natalia pushed back her hair and pointed at a golden hoop perched on her ear.

She didn't speak after that. Alfred understood that her story had drawn to a close. Alfred was speechless. He bit his lips and thought about his next few words. Again the fear that courage had abandoned him attacked his mind. He fought it bravely and spoke in an undertone.

"I'm afraid that I can't marry you, or even become romantically invested in you."

"That's all right."

"It's not because I don't like you." Alfred said quickly, deciding his words. Natalia's stoic expression gave nothing away. Though he fancied he saw a ghost of pain drift by leisurely. But she had seen the phantom enough times to ignore it for a little while.

He took her hands in his and pressed her palms.

"If I wasn't… No, but… I do like you. I think there is more to you. I just, you… You…" He swallowed, fumbling. His tongue felt heavy and dumb in his mouth. "You're a woman."

Natalia's eyes widened and her lips parted. Her hands fell away from his.

"I see."

"Please don't take this the wrong way. I can't change, I was born like this. I like being this way. Even though it sucks and its hard and I realise this is probably shocking to you. But I like it. It is who I am. I can't change this any more than I can change the colour of my skin. So I ask you, before you bring up old prejudices, to pause and consider."

"Your mother does not know?" Natalia asked.

Alfred stumbled again. "No, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Natalia raised her eyebrows. She didn't seem offended, but she also didn't seem pleased.

"I see." She repeated.

"Natalia, look, I'm not sorry for being the way I am."

"Don't be." Natalia said. She let a hint of sorrow emerge in her eyes. "Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"I am not angry or sad because of who you are. I am angry and sad because I actually had hope for once." She said. Her voice was bitter. It reminded him of the soured apples he sometimes picked up from the ground and bit into as a little kid.

She turned and walked away, her footsteps small in the snow.

She left Alfred standing before the lake. His heart felt colder.


	8. A Different Breed

A Different Breed

Alfred returned home early. The drive to the city felt painfully long. He had bade Matthew goodbye and promised to talk to him more often. He told his parents that he had an urgent job request he couldn't miss, and apologised. That was the end of his visit.

The street lights glazed on the windows of passing cars, blues, purples, bright neon signs, cigarette smoke curling into the star spangled sky. Alfred tried to take comfort in this as well. He was going home, a different breed of home.

Once in his apartment, he threw his luggage in and, having taken care of his personal needs, went out. He couldn't bare to be alone. His heart had been shattered, for two reasons too much to think about. He needed something mindless, loud, distant.

So he decided to go to a club.

He had cruised this place, Kinky Fever, at least three times in the past. Each time he got cold feel and ended up home. Once he thought he saw a coworker near the street. His heart leapt to his throat and he made a u-turn back home, "no way" ringing in his head like a dull bell.

This time, he had no fear. To hell with his coworkers. And his heart didn't leap to his throat because it was too busy licking its wounds to even care. Alfred felt bold. He would find some guy. He'd have an impersonal love affair. He would forget about it the next morning. He would go on. Maybe next week he'd find another guy. Who knows? Maybe it would become a habit.

A horrible habit for a man his age to have, albeit, but he really, really didn't care. At least he told himself this to fend off any guilt or impending regret. Like trying to ward off a lion with a flimsy plastic chair.

The bouncing strobe lights at the front of the club, its insignia of fire and lips blazing on the front, welcomed Alfred in. He walked towards it, his hands in his pockets. He decided on a purple v-neck, a denim jacket, and loose jeans. He slouched forwards, having adjusted his hair to accentuate his hidden handsomeness.

Groups of people walked past him, some whistling, some discretely grabbing at their crotches. Alfred passed them, blind with emotion, and a little tipsy, with winking eyes. He even brushed past a few backs and bottoms. It felt good. Poisonous, deadly, good.

He entered the club, his glasses flashing the blue and red dancing lights. Groups of boys walked past. Here were the twinks giggled and looking demurely innocent. The queens were in another corner. Then there were the shy, newly un-closeted men who stood near the back. Alfred walked around, looking up at the drag queen on the stage, smiling broadly and being remarkably irresistible. Her name was Jade of the East, her black hair piled high, and her slender arms waving delicately as a delicately intriguing song spilled from her lips. A large crowd had gathered before her, clapping wildly. She winked at the audience.

Alfred actually felt at home. Here were people he didn't have to hide from. Now, if only he could take a part of that and keep it at home, like a humidifier.

He stood at the bar and ordered a drink. He took his time sipping it, laughing and flirting with the waiter. The lights gave him a light headache and the music, now taken over by a punk rock queen, began to grate on his ears. He didn't hate the music, but it was far too loud.

He crossed his legs, getting comfortable in his seat. Several men walked past him. He grinned at them, winked, licked his teeth. They flirted, lost interest, and moved on. Some Alfred didn't mind had left. Others were a little cute.

Maybe Alfred was too old for this.

About the time Alfred's buzz began to turn into a genuinely good time, a voice sawed is happiness in half.

"Jones?"

Alfred turned, bewildered.

"Aren't you the actuary at…" he named Alfred's business, although it was half-drowned out by the music. Alfred felt his bones wash over with a chill. The man was tall and strapping, with spiky blond hair and an unidentifiable accent.

Alfred laughed awkwardly. "Really? No, you must have me confused with someone else…"

"You turned when I called your name." The man said, sitting next to him. He could tell Alfred was uncomfortable and generously changed the subject. "Anyway, I work in the building next door. I design clothes. I'm Matthias. And I didn't know a mathematician could be so cute."

Alfred felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Really? I didn't know a clothing designer could be so… buff." Alfred retorted.

Matthias grinned. "I try." He flexed his bicep. A vein pulsed down his arm, like a thin river, nourishing the rocky muscle beneath.

Alfred felt his breath slip away. If only for fleshy pleasure. It was not the electric heart-pounding he received from Ivan. No, stop it, don't think about him. A war erupted in his head. He swallowed it and turned to Matthew politely.

"I'm impressed."

"Like the big guys?" Matthias asked, taking a swig of beer.

"You bet."

"Well, a borderline twink seems like he would be paired up well with a big, beefy dude."

"Did you call me a—" Alfred began, but Matthew, slamming a bill on the table, paying for both their drinks, stood.

"Hey, dance with me. I love this song." He tugged Alfred's hand along.

They tumbled on to the dance floor. A powerful, pulsing beat filled the club. Matthias pulled Alfred to his chest, dancing with him. He smelled of beer and light cologne. Alfred, who stood only a little shorter than Matthias.

Matthias proved to be a formidable dancer. They enjoyed three songs together before Alfred excused himself to the seats again. Matthias walked back with him, already a little sweaty from being crammed between so many men.

Alfred plumped down on the stool.

"You're good." He said.

"Thanks." He repeated, "I try."

Alfred laughed.

"So…" Matthias lowered his voice, meeting Alfred's staggeringly bright blue eyes. Alfred's head already began to spin.

"This is my first time out with a guy." Alfred whispered.

"Really?"

"I almost kissed my friend once. But he was drunk."

"You didn't kiss him?"

"I thought it was wrong."

"Oh? A moral man?"

Alfred smiled dreamily.

"Yeah… I guess."

Matthias placed his hand on Alfred's back. Up until that moment, Alfred had never known such a touch. Not a masculine, friendly pat. Not a careless limb strung across his shoulders. But an attractive, flirtatious touch, gentle. Alluring.

Matthias approached him. His lips were so close. Alfred leaned forwards and nearly kissed him. He stopped, his eyes widening. Something felt off. He looked up and, in the distance, caught sight of silver hair. He felt like he would faint.

"What?" Matthias perked up, looking over his shoulder.

There he was.

What the hell?

Alfred could barely function. He squinted into the crowd, seeking through layers of shirtless men, of a few kissing and against each other. He spotted the silver hair and nearly jumped up then and there. He stopped, however, and saw that the silvery hue was fake. The stranger was shorter, too. No, it was someone else different entirely.

Alfred turned back to Matthias.

"Sorry, I thought I saw a coworker." He lied.

"Not out yet?" Matthias asked, returning to his gaze, but with only part of his earlier enthusiasm.

"No. I'm terrified of what they'd do."

"I hear you."

"Will you?"

"Hell, even if you ran off with some other guy I'd keep your secret. It's our code." Matthias said, slapping his chest honourably.

"Thanks." Alfred said.

Matthias bent down, "So where were we?"

Alfred leaned his head on his palm. "I don't know. Where were we?" He smiled.


	9. All the Things I Love About a Boy

All the Things I Love About a Boy

Matthew felt terrible. Why had he let his brother go home? Why didn't he answer his phone all night? What was going on? Did he get into an accident? Will they have to fish the local river? His heart was pounding when he picked up his phone and frantically dialled his brother's number. He was leaving for home that day and now sat patiently in the airport. He heard the clicks of heels, the murmur of passing chatter, and the occasionally announcements followed by bells.

The tone rung, Matthew chewed on his lip. He had called his fiancé and asked what to do. Now, all he could do was wait. After a moment, a deep voice picked up. Matthew nearly chucked his phone at the elderly lady stitching socks across from him.

"Hello?" The voice muttered sleepily.

"Um—hi, is Alfred Jones there or have I the wrong number?"

There was a brief rustling. Of bed sheets. Al you didn't. No. Matthew's head rung with a headache. Alfred picked up.

"Hey."

"Alfred what is going on?"

"Oh God, Matt, you sound like Ma." His head slumped against the pillow.

"Alfred?"

"I can have some fun."

There was muted giggling.

Matthew huffed. "Who is that with you?"

"It's Matthias. He designs clothing."

"Did you date?"

"If you call a few drinks and a good dance a date, then yes." Alfred said. "Not everyone can afford lavish wines and some patience."

Matthew jiggled his leg nervously. He attempted to keep his voice down, rubbing the ring on his finger nervously. "Alfred, you go home and the first thing you do is hit the club?"

"Why not?"

Matthew heard muted talking, as Alfred pulled the phone away from his head. "Leaving so soon?" Laughter. "Will I see you again?" Silence. "Oh, that's fine. It was nice!" Pause. "Yeah, have a good day! Let's meet up for lunch." Some chatter. "As friends sounds fine." The door shut. Alfred returned to the phone.

"You see?"

"Don't sound so full of it."

"You let a foreign body on your bed. He won't remember your name by tomorrow. Why?"

"Don't be so chaste."

"I'm not being chaste. All I'm saying is that you were out of your mind with emotions and you had to get rid of them."

"I'm not a lesbian, Matt, I take care of my feeling brashly. Frankly I don't do relationships."

"So you decided to," he lowered his voice, "Become a whore?"

"What of it? I get some happiness out of it."

"What about Ivan?"

"Shut up."

"Al—You're running away."

"I'm not running away when I have no home to go to."

"What the hell are you talking about? Don't hang up!" Matthew attempted to say but Alfred had already checked out of the conversation.

Matthew stared at the screen. Why was he the only level-headed one? He texted his fiancé.

_He had a one night stand. _

_Why?_

_He was heartbroken._

_That's not exactly a good cure. Kind of like alcoholism._

_I told him!_

_And?_

_HE WON'T LISTEN._

_Oh God he got you mad. _

_BECAUSE HE'S A GODDAMN IDIOT SOMETIMES. I love him but he can be too much. _

_What can you do?_

_I want to help him. _

_Should we move there?_

_No, babe. _

The speaker announced that his plane would be boarding. He collected his belongings and ticket and walked towards the gates. He slung a jacket over his shoulder and stood behind a short woman with frizzy hair. She was talking wildly into her phone.

_The plane's boarding. Love you. _

_Love you too. Bye!_

Matthew smiled, his cheeks flushing. The longing for his brother to experience the same intense love, the same peace, tranquility, homeyness, mounted in him like the desire to breathe or drink. He thought about it as he entered the plane.

He was tempted to call Alfred again, not that Alfred would reply, and tell him that what he was experiencing was wrong. That this affair was, no matter how nice it was to his body, was nothing like being with someone he loved. It was like being alone, only with more flesh. It was nothing. It was meaningless.

Now, doing it with someone one loved. It was like enjoying a good meal from beginning to end and knowing that the chef was there to make different variations of the meal, to have that assurance that good food was always present. Like cooking at home versus going to a restaurant. And Alfred had gone to a fast-food joint of all places.

Matthew sat down next to a surly looking Englishman engrossed in a book. He leaned back, bringing out his own novel, and couldn't read a word of it. He ended up rereading the same passage several times, the only word sticking in his head being "brother". He put it away and sat down contemptuously.

Then the worries started pouring into his head.

Did Alfred use protection? Did he speak with the guy? Did he smell the water for funny scents? Was he careful? Was he drunk? Was he sick? _Did he use protection? _Would the guy rat on him? Was he a queen who told everyone? Was he closeted? Would he hate Alfred? Would Alfred hate him?

What would happen then? What will Ma think? What will Pa think? That was a fare worse than hell right there. Matthew could already hear the disappointment. He could see Alfred coming home for a holiday with a jockey strap and a new guy, maybe even a nineteen year old, in bed with him. Would he then turn on Matthew?

"You look like you're going to faint. Are you all right?"

Matthew snapped out of it and looked at the man next to him. The man's eyebrows rose under his sandy hair. His dark green eyes held concern. But a frustrated sort, as if he was mad that Matthew wasn't feeling well.

Matthew shook his head. "I'm a little dizzy."

"First time?"

"No, I've been dizzy before."

The man look ready to smack Matthew with his book, but instead broke into a good-natured grin. He shook his head and peered out the window, tapping his hands against the arm of the chair. A golden ring glittered on his hand.

"Married?" Matthew asked.

The man looked at him. His eyes melted with warmth. "Yes." He looked at Matthew's ring. "You?"

"Engaged." Matthew said shyly.

"Lucky man."

Matthew's lips parted and stayed that way. The plane began to take off. Arthur poked Matthew's mouth shut. "You might catch a fly."

"I'm sorry, I just. How?"

"How'd I know?"

Matthew nodded.

"First, you didn't look at the stewardess as she passed by, despite her having excellent form. Second, I've been around. I just know."

"I'm impressed." Matthew said softly. His worries had cleared from his head. He didn't think he would ever stop feeling thankful for the man's presence. He introduced himself, and learned the man was Arthur and he had flown in from London to see a friend's wedding.

They chatted for some time on the plane, quietly, and found the other's company more than enjoyable. The plane landed and they felt almost sorry about it. Matthew bade him farewell and got off.

Once home, the journey only beginning, Matthew rushed into his fiancé's arms, ruffling the white hair beneath his fingers and pressing kisses to the soft, cold cheek. He caught sight of Arthur dragging his suitcase away, the wheels whirring against the ground. He waved a hand and Arthur nodded, a pleased smile crossing his face. Just like many people in Matthew's life, Arthur winked out like a star as the earth rolls into day.


	10. Just for You

Just for You

Alfred heard the door swing open. His grip tightened against the waist pressed to his. He tilted his head back, allowing his third lover that week to kiss his neck. He grunted happily and peered through the cracks of the bathroom stall. Light trickled in from the hallway. A teenage kid walked in, adjusting his hair as he walked past the mirror.

The guy at Alfred's neck, what was his name? Jon? Ashton? Who cared? He was a good looking brunet with a pair of soft, soft lips. He felt his jeans come undone. The teenager walked past the stall, his eyes flicking in and meeting Alfred's. Alfred flashed him a wink. The boy flushed red and didn't seem to know what to do. Whatshisface slid down Alfred's body.

"Who is it?"

Alfred placed his hand on the man's head, tilting his head further back. He peered at the kid.

"Just someone who is going to leave us _alone._"

"You asshole." The other muttered.

Alfred shrugged. "Thanks."

Then it struck him, leaning against a bathroom stall and telling a seventeen year old to get, his lower torso unfeeling from so much stimulation. He was losing control. He had only gone out to quench the thirst for another body against his. That was a few months back. He had quickly become addicted to the unfeeling passerbys, some he saw in restaurants, some he saw on the streets, and one in the dentist's office. Each time it was great, but it ended. His brother had pleaded with him, begged him to come home.

Just for you, brother. Alfred had insisted. He'll quit when he was ready. But that wouldn't be for a long, long time. He still had to snuff out the desires left. That wasn't the case, he knew it. The more he did it, the more he wanted it, and the less he got out of it.

He really needed to stop.

That evening, the man he met earlier now long forgotten, he lay on his back in bed. He stared at the ceiling. He chewed on his lower lip. Ivan still threatened to overcome his thoughts, like a ghost in the corner of his room.

Just for you, brother.

Maybe for him too.

Alfred rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. He felt suddenly vile and devilish. He had stayed clean, miraculously. Physically. Not so much mentally. His mind had been ruined with the dirt of society, filling him with desires that convinced him "lust" was just as good as "love". If not quicker and thereby better.


	11. Lover's Lullaby

Lover's Lullaby

At exactly 7:14 PM, Thursday night, Alfred's life changed.

The phone began to ring, echoing dimly through his small home. He picked it up, shoving a thumb into his book. The lamplight oozed orange and painted the walls the colour of sunset. It had been a slow day and Alfred was tired. He answered the phone harsher than he intended to.

When he heard the other voice, his heart felt like it was struck by a hammer, breaking open all the old cracks and splints anew.

"Hello. It's me, Ivan. I heard. I'm sorry."

"What do you want?" Alfred spat. His blind fury drove away any comprehension of Ivan's words.

"I just realise now how horrible I was. I was frustrated. Then my sister came home and told me about you and what you said. She was sad, but she was also very happy. She was happy because you didn't agree to lie to her and marry her out of pity. Once she got used to the idea, she was fine. And I became fine, too."

"That doesn't make up for what you called my brother." Alfred's fingers tightened around both the phone and his book.

Ivan's voice was soft, drenched in regret. "I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

"Myself."

"And you—oh." Alfred stopped. It made sense. Most homophobic people tended to be extremely closeted themselves. It clicked into place. And Alfred was never one to hold on too tightly to a grudge. "So, why'd you call?"

"Don't you know?" Ivan whispered. Alfred thought he could hear a muffled sob behind him.

"Don't be vague."

"I'm not. I wanted to call and make amends, and to offer condolences."

"Look, I forgive you. Maybe we could meet up and work it out. Unless you have a boyfriend or something." Alfred added quickly.

"I don't."

Oh, good. Alfred almost said this before swallowing his words. He didn't want to seem to eager. Just the week before he had met a handsome young man who shattered his heart after false expectations. The young man was engaged to a woman. Alfred felt like a cheater, like scum, like garbage to throw away with looking at it.

Instead, Alfred shifted on the couch, crossing his legs. He waited for Ivan to say something else. The sobs echoing on the other end continued. Alfred didn't think it was his place to ask what was going wrong.

"What about Natalia?"

"She's fine." Ivan replied shortly.

Alfred grimaced. "Doesn't sound like it."

"Katrina's crying."

"Did she like Matt? Think he'd like her back?" Alfred toyed.

"No."

The word hit him like a stone. Ivan's voice had become sharp and jagged. His tone was jarring. The world seemed to close in on Alfred from every direction. Something was amiss, and he couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Do you want to get some coffee? Come into the city and I'll show you around." Alfred offered.

Ivan cleared his throat. He paused for a long time. Far too long. "Alfred, we're dancing around the topic."

"Dancing around what?" Alfred laughed uncomfortably.

The cracking the wall was appearing under the peeling wallpaper.

The wall paper, maybe it was patterned with blue lilies, now peeled off.

"About your brother."

"He's getting married next week, can you believe it?" Alfred smiled, looking at the calendar. Though, Matthew hadn't called in a long time. It was odd for him to remain silent for so long. Alfred scratched his neck. He felt a shiver go down his spine. "Unless they canceled."

"They didn't."

"Good."

"You really don't know?"

"Oh shut up." Alfred said. "Tell me the truth."

"Alfred."

The next two words dug into Alfred's chest like a dagger. He felt a sob rise up in his throat, out of surprise, out of sorrow. His head seemed to shake. Something hit the ground. Alfred thought it was his body for a moment, before realising the book had fallen away, losing his page.

The word turned to ice.

"Matthew's dead."

Alfred's voice croaked, bubbling from the bottom of a deep, deep sea.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"No. No, he's too young. Too soon. No, no, no, no…"

"I shouldn't have said this over the phone. I'm coming to your house. I'm in the city anyway."

"No no no no no"

"I have your address, I asked your mom for it. She's also involved."

"No, hell no, no way… No this isn't happening, no no no no no."

"Alfred, please calm down while I come over. I'm getting in the car."

"Please, oh God, please no." Alfred shut his eyes and felt hot tears trickling down his face. No, it's not real.

It's a joke.

It was a ruse set up by his clever brother to get him and Ivan together. To be the adhesive for Alfred's life. To make it stick together and make sense. And Matthew was his twin, don't twins feel a shock of sorts if something happens to the other? Doesn't something twinge in their hearts? Alfred felt tired and a little down all day, but that's not about Matthew. It can't be.

It's a damn joke.

By the time Ivan arrived, Alfred had convinced himself it was an elaborate scheme. He sat near the door, waiting for Ivan to knock. He stood and opened it, seeing Ivan before him. Ivan looked completely drained of energy. His eyes were heavy and his beautiful features were pulled gaunt. His lips were pale, his eyes lacking their glimmer. His hair was tangled by the wind.

Alfred invited him inside, telling him to sit. Asking if he wanted anything. He did all this in a sort of daze. It was as hit he was a ghost drifting a few inches behind his real body. He trailed along, limitless, listless, lonesome.

Ivan declined and told Alfred to sit down next to him. Then he did something Alfred never would have hoped or dreamed of. He wrapped his arms around Alfred, pulling the teary cheeks into the fur lining of his coat. Alfre shut his eyes, shaking lightly. He gripped Ivan's jacket and wept, denying everything under his breath.

"Not real. Not really. No no no…"

Ivan pressed his hand to Alfred's head.

"I wish I hadn't been such an asshole, to you or your brother."

"It's…" but Alfred couldn't convince himself of the truth and he knew he couldn't convince Ivan either.

Ivan and Alfred sat there for some time, listening to Alfred's hitched breaths and the ticking of a clock. Ivan remained dry-eyed. He felt bad for Alfred, for how he acted, for his sisters, for Alfred especially. And for Alfred. What was this feeling? Ivan didn't know how to express it save for comforting touches and pulling Alfred closer.

A pair of tear-stained glasses sat on the coffee table. Ivan wanted to put them back on to Alfred, but decided against it. There was enough harm he had done. His head spun. He was guilt of feeling only selfish sorrow, not of empathy, not of sympathy, not of anything. His life growing up had drained him of any warmth.

Then, a few months back, when he was with Alfred, he felt a kind of compassion flood him. It gripped him and heated him as if he was a crucible. It brought alight a flame he was afraid of seeing. He tried to snuff it with slurs, with meanness. It didn't work.

After some more time, Alfred pulled away.

"What happened?" he whispered.

Ivan turned away.

"I was with my sister at your mother's place. She had invited us over for dinner. She still thought that you and Natalia were going steady. She used those words. Anyway, she thought that you two were unjustly parted. She invited us so she could arrange bringing you over for a weekend or something. She didn't know about you.

"Natalia agreed to come so she could personally tell your mother that you two weren't invested. Though she had a feeling your mother would go through denial. I agreed to come in case things got messy, and because I wanted to be closer to you. I wanted to apologise even then, but the news that followed pushed me over the edge.

"During dinner your mother received a phone call from someone she didn't know. 'A strange man,' she had described him. 'And he's telling me my son is dead'. She had added in a quieter voice. She looked like she was shrinking into a mouse hole.

" 'Who is this?' she asked him.

"I didn't hear what he said, but I assume it was something like 'I'm your son's fiancé.' I watched your mother's jowls turn dour. I watched her face crumple. I had a really bad feeling that everything was about to go wrong. I held on to the edge of my seat, but I tried to look calm. Natalia was glanced from me to her.

" 'No I don't have no stinking gay son.' Your mother spat and… God, I'm sorry Alfred." Ivan said, brushing Alfred's tears away with a gruff thumb.

"Go on." Alfred said weakly.

" 'No, you don't have "no stinking gay son",' I said to her, 'You have two'. I was so mad. But I knew the truth had to come out, excuse the pun, some way or other. I know it should have been you two who came out to her together. But circumstances weren't so kind. She gave me a look that cold have turned milk sour.

"She asked what I was talking about. I got into an argument with her. Mean things were said. Meanwhile, Natya got a hold of the phone and began to talk. Afterwards she told me what Gilbert said. She said he was hysterical and sorry and a mess and that he had no one to turn to and he was breaking and falling like sand through fingers.

"All while your mother chose to dwell on the wrong thing and blame everything. She said it was sinful, that love is only for certain people, like it was a rite of passage you had to go but only certain people from very certain tribes could go by it. As if love is something that is given by the government in glossy packages. As if love is something that is earned, not innate.

"I told her she was wrong. I told her I'm gay. I told her that I thought the same thing she did until I _grew up _and she began to cry. It struck her that her son was dead all too quickly. I got here as quickly as I could, but it's already nighttime. And…" Ivan took a shaky breath. His composure was breaking.

Alfred felt numb. His mother had called but he hadn't picked up. Good thing too.

"How did… How…?" Alfred bit his lip.

"Car accident. That's all I know. He was in the hospital until the time Gilbert called. You should call him tomorrow."

"I will."

"Good."

Alfred leaned back, shutting his eyes.

No more tears to cry.

No, no that was wrong.

There were still so many tears to cry yet.

"Ivan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

Ivan didn't respond.

"To wipe my tears."

"You're welcome."

"I don't have anyone left to do that. Matthew usually does… did…" Alfred choked up and leaned forwards.

The world ended that night. He held his hands to his head. Now his family hated him. At least he was an adult and could get away. If this happened when he was a kid and Matthew's boyfriend had called Alfred would probably be sleeping in a gutter if he hadn't been eaten by the rats yet.

Ivan took Alfred's chin in his hands and turned him upwards gently. Ivan looked emotionlessly into Alfred's eyes. At least, it looked stoic. But something was floating in the purplish depths. Alfred couldn't tell what it was. He leaned forwards. Ivan pulled away and stood up. He went to the window.

The time for comfort was over now. Alfred thought grimly. There was no more of that. A lead weight had settled into his heart. If only someone could transmute it into gold. Wouldn't that be nice. A touch, a lover's touch, a lover's lullaby to lull away his dull aches. Alfred remained prostrate on the couch, his book tented against the ground, his eyes shut.

Ivan bade him a good night. He seemed confused and troubled again.

"Call if you need anything."

But he was a good man.

"Night."

Albeit tough, still good deep inside.

Ivan paused at the door. He smiled limply.

"Good night."


	12. Where are you?

Where are you?

At seven in the morning Matthew was driving home to see his fiancé after a very early meeting. He yawned into his fist, the smell of coffee filling his small car. In the back there was quite some space he wanted to clean out. So they could put a car seat in it.

He and Gilbert were planning on visiting an adoption agency not long after they were married and seeing what they could start. These things take time, Matthew thought. It was best to start earlier so they didn't have to suffer delays and wait in agony as their baby was miserable in unforgiving arms, arms that didn't love. In a country that couldn't. Or could but some people couldn't.

Matthew crossed on to the highway. He tuned the car to his favourite song, humming along. He glanced down as he did this, seeing a picture of Gilbert clipped to a fuzzy pink mouse toy. Matthew smiled, feeling a surge of love fill his chest.

He turned back to the road. No one was there save for a blue truck carrying food supplies down the road. Matthew nodded his head to the song, keeping an eye on the truck. It was moving strangely.

The tires bobbed down the street and the front of the truck threatened to swerve towards him. Matthew squinted through his sunglasses, trying to see the driver. The driver was not a truck driver. It was woman with frazzled hair, her face grim. She was jerking the wheel.

Matthew felt something click in his head. Something like saying "good bye" and realising the finality of it several minutes later. Something deep inside him shifted and he knew something was about to happen. He could drive back, but the roads were too narrow and so was time.

The truck jerked into Matthew's car. Matthew tried to move away, but the only other option was into a ditch. He felt the impact a second too late. He saw food supplies bursting from the car, like a seahorse giving birth. Cans and boxes splattered out, some shattering against the ground, other flying into the ditch or into cars not far from them. Matthew's poor little blue car teetered dangerously and rocked to the right. Matthew saw the pink fluff slide off his dashboard, Gilbert's picture slipping away and out the broken window.

The car flipped over, taking Matthew with it. The truck was leaning on its side like an exhausted beast. Fumes escaped it, the dragon's breaths. Matthew could barely see the woman's face crushed against the front window. Blood trickling out.

The seat belt snapped and Matthew felt something collide with his chest and head. It felt like warm liquid was flooding his entire body. He shut his eyes.

Letting himself drown.

Half his body was tugged out of the car, his blood smeared against most of it.

Police sirens wailed and lights flashed against the wreckage. The wreckage of a quiet morning.

Gilbert heard the story, feeling as if all the meaning from his life had been drained away. The plug was pulled. He was falling, fast.

"Where are you, Matthew?" He whispered to the empty side of the bed. "How can I go on?"

Where are you?

Where are you…


	13. Dialogues

Dialogues

"Alfred?"

"Gil?"

"Yeah, hi, oh God I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. It was bound to come out some way or other."

"I just thought that maybe some sort of tragedy could, I don't know, help in some way? Maybe your parents would come to their senses? I know that's a bad thing to say."

"No, I understand. Matthew would have wanted the same thing."

"Always wanting the upside to every situation, huh?"

. . .

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss him so much."

"I do too."

"I love him. I always will."

"He loved you too. Don't forget that."

"I just, I just don't know what to do. Where to go. It feels like my life has just stopped."

"Gilbert, I don't know either."

* * *

"Ma?"

"Honey, I don't want to talk about his right now."

"Ma, look, my twin brother is dead and you're worked up over the wrong thing."

"I'm worked up that you all lied to me."

"We didn't. We were afraid. We hid the truth."

"That's lying in my book."

"Ma—Ma, how would you feel if your family turned you away for a reason that was fine, but in their eyes was wrong? If you lost your family for no reason?"

"This is not a 'no reason'. Why didn't you tell us? We could have gotten you help?"

"And what? Pray the gay away? That's not how it works."

"We could have gotten you to a hospital."

"How ignorant are you?"

"Alfred."

"Ma, can you think of anyone outside of yourself?"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me."

"I am not."

"You're yelling."

"Oh don't cry."

"What am I to do with two f-f-_fag _sons?"

"Don't you dare call us that! If you don't want to talk in a civilised tone I'm saying good-bye."

Alfred slammed the phone down, tears burning in his eyes. He felt like he was drowning in an endless pool of pain.

* * *

"Ivan?"

"Want me to come over?"

"Yes, please."


	14. Bad Country

Bad Country

The roads spilled before them, dipping between hills and creeping up the horizon. Alfred sat in the passenger seat, resting his elbow half out the window. His hair flicked in the wind, his glasses tinting the sharp sun off.

Next to him Ivan drove quietly. His hands gripped the steering wheel. His glasses barely concealed the blossoming bruise against his right eye. A scar of congealing blood trickled down his cheek. A cigarette hung from his lips, tossing smoke over his shoulder and out the door.

Alfred grinned.

"Damn, you look so sexy."

Ivan flashed him a smile.

"Thanks. You look like a decent jock."

"Shit, are my muscles that big?" Alfred asked, flexing.

Ivan cast him a sidelong glance, filled with dazed admiration. He whistled lowly. Alfred reached over and touched Ivan's hand. Ivan held it, lowering it from the steering wheel and setting it in his lap. Alfred squeezed his palm.

Only a week ago, hysterical Alfred had called Ivan over to talk and calm down from the accident. It still burned as if the wound was fresh. His heart thudded with the pain of the memory. Ivan had helped him cope, and, somehow, Ivan had fallen in deeper love with Alfred.

It felt all too good to be true. Here they were, running away to California, Alfred's job having been quit abruptly. His bloody nose and chipped tooth helped convince his boss not to make too much of a hassle over it. Domestic violence, he said. Luckily, his scars healed quickly, whereas Ivan's had taken their sweet time in making a mark against his Athenian Godly beautiful face.

Alfred leaned back in the chair, pulling his elbow out the window. He rolled it up, his hands buzzing from the cold of buffeting wind. August was not far in coming. Alfred laced his fingers between Ivan's, gently rubbing Ivan's finger. It felt strange, he thought. Like he was rubbing his own hand but had the feeling abruptly cut off. Each time he went to move his hand, Ivan's would react, his big fingers curling around his. He felt sheltered. His heart did a summersault each time Ivan's gentle fingertips brushed against his calloused skin.

"I'm so lucky." Alfred whispered.

Ivan smiled. He snuffed the cigarette and drove the rest of the way without touching a single one.

The night after Ivan's visit, he and Alfred had gone to his parents' house to talk things out. Ivan and Alfred stood in the doorway, surprised to find Natalia and Katrina already there. Their eyes, terrified, swivelled towards them. Natalia burst into grim tears and Katrina threw her arms around her little sister.

Alfred's parents stared them down. They accused both of them. They said Alfred had destroyed Matthew, and himself, and now this poor, innocent girl. Alfred and Ivan felt like retracting into a corner.

They even admitted that Matthew was their favourite.

And that Gilbert was prohibited from coming to Matthew's funeral, or gravesite, or ever to touch his things. Gilbert had fortunately hid away many of Matthew's belongings as keepsakes. Which felt to him like he was hiding a ghost in his house.

Alfred's parents then continued to lash out at the both of them. Natalia said she had only just arrived to try and make peace. She twisted towards Alfred's mother.

"Can't you accept him? He's your only son now! What a cruel mother you are, to want to love the models you have crafted, and not your actual children!" She cried out.

Alfred's mother's face contorted. She slapped Natalia across the face, spitting the first curse Alfred had ever heard her utter. _Bitch! _

Katrina pulled Natalia outside, tending to her split lip. She begged them all to stop, to talk, to leave and then come back when they had calmed down and the shock had worn off. She was the only sane person there.

"Those kids who called you fags should have strung you up." Alfred's father said, quietly, sadly.

Alfred then began to understand why his parents felt the way they did, at least in part. And he really didn't want to have understood. It would have been so much easier to hate without reason and not see the humans hidden beneath the curtain of emotion and flawed logic. His father wanted his sons safe. He was afraid of misconceptions, and of the very real social aggression that was all but inevitable.

Alfred cursed his parents, wishing they would just understand. Eyes turned to Ivan. Ivan had stepped between Alfred and his father. Alfred grabbed his shoulder, which Ivan moved away from. He began to speak coldly.

"If you won't understand, we'll leave. We're adults. I couldn't have been more thankful that it was now that this happened. Or else you self-loathing, despicable, villainous people would have killed a boy before he could even experience something as simple and necessary as love. _You are a villain._"

For that, Ivan received a swinging blow to the side of his face, giving him a black eye. Along with that, Alfred's father's ring cut his cheek. They began to fight. Somehow Alfred got caught in the melee of insults and blows and received his own beating.

Alfred stopped recalling. A painful bubble had risen in his chest. He looked at Ivan, who raised his hand and brushed away the tears Alfred's had begun to spout. Alfred thanked him, taking Ivan's hand and kissing the palm.

"This is bad country, Alfred."

"Everywhere is bad country." Alfred said ruefully.

Ivan looked at the sign that swam past them in a sea of brownish grass. Large windmills spun circles not far off.

"We'll be in Los Angeles in a few more hours." Ivan said.

"Good."

Alfred put on music, which they listened to, alternating with a local radio station. Alfred had taken all his savings with him, made sure his account couldn't be taken over by his parents, and had booked a hotel in advance. Everything seemed like it would work out fine. It would be hard, but it would also be fine. And worth it.

Alfred stole a kiss on Ivan's cheek.

"Love you."

"I love _you_."

"How much do you love me?"

"At my right is the east, and you are my sun."

Alfred grinned. "And you ought to teach lanterns to shine brighter."

"Alfred, _Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon!_"

Alfred felt his ears turn red. He watched the sun reach its zenith just above them. A few silvery cars passed them by like sparse river in a narrow stream. Weeds tumbled towards plantations and mountains reared their heads in the distance. Alfred felt like he had forgotten just how beautiful the world can be.

Just as he discovered such beauty, arising like phenix from is ashes, another thought struck him. This more painful than the last. He turned to Ivan woefully.

Ivan didn't turn to him, but nodded to show that he noticed Alfred's change in mood.

"What shall we do about my family—and yours for that matter?"

"They know not our love."

"_If they do see thee, they will murder thee. _They've already tried." Alfred licked his thumb and rubbed away at the scar. It became cleaner. Beneath the dark red there was a faint pink scar. "At least it wasn't too deep."

"It's worth it to be with you, _So thrive my soul." _

"What a horrible thing love is."

"Is it not worth the trouble?"

"Oh, indeed." Alfred smiled shrewdly. "_Alack the day_."

"Alack the day." Ivan echoed.

* * *

_Much of this story is inspired and parodying Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._ I do not own it, although it is public domain. The lines used are from the ever popular "balcony scene". _

_Now that this has been revealed, prithee, perhaps some nuances have become less of an enigma. _


	15. The Lark

The Lark

_Chapter leaning more towards the 'M' rating. Not graphic. _

_(Consummation of Marriage)_

They plumped down on the hotel bed, their luggage cluttered around the room. An article listing apartments for sale was strewn against the table, forgotten. The smell of cigarettes had yet to impregnate the room. The chandelier glittered, catching the reflection off the wrist watch sitting next to the newspaper, and relaying it towards the television, creating a triangle of light. The bed croaked weakly.

Alfred stared up at Ivan's eyes, murky depths of purple. He grinned, running his hands through the waterfall of silvery hair dangling just before his face. His hand went back, around the strong neck, to the muscular shoulders. A chain hung from Ivan's neck, the charm resting on Alfred's collar bones.

Ivan lowered his head and pressed his lips up Alfred's neck. Alfred tilted his head back. "First time with a guy?" Alfred asked.

Ivan paused, lips hovering over Alfred's. He pecked at it, his hands running down Alfred's stomach.

"No."

"Oh?"

"Don't be jealous."

"I'm not."

"Sure you aren't."

Ivan plunged forwards and Alfred shut his eyes, giving himself up. His cheeks flushed deeply. Was he jealous? Why should be? He'd been with several men in his insane period between Ivan and his involuntary chastity. Ivan wasn't jealous about it. Why should he? Alfred felt his thoughts shatter, whisked away by a powerful gust of wind.

"When I was fifteen." Ivan said, pressing his face to Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred, his eyes still shut, petted Ivan's head.

"A bit early."

"I didn't know any better."

"What happened?"

"Well first I was with a friend. We were taking a trip to a cabin his father had in the woods. It was nice to have a wealthy friend. Anyway, we went there. We skated on the icy lake. We laughed, told jokes, stole sips of alcohol, and eventually settled in the cabin. We were alone, his father wasn't far off. It was something about learning to be a man and such."

Alfred grinned, kissing Ivan's forehead. "I went hunting once. I cried because I thought I hit a rabbit. I missed by a yard."

Ivan chuckled into Alfred's smooth, soft skin. Skin that had endured so much, but also skin with the softness of a man who used his brain more than his body. Ivan smelled the sweet aroma of Alfred, something indistinct and desperately valuable.

"Go on." Alfred egged.

"We went to the cabin. We were tipsy that night, and we had eaten some meat we cooked on a fire. It was cold so we decided to sleep closer together on the same bed. I put my hand like this." Alfred gasped at the demonstration, "and he was shocked. I was woozy and he felt hot, so he kissed me. I barely remember what happened. We did something like this." Alfred bit his lip. he felt Ivan's grin spread against his skin.

The story fell away and Alfred felt gruff hands against his hips and legs, gruff but loving.

. . .

Alfred placed his head on Ivan's lap, allowing Ivan to brush at his hair. Ivan stared up at the ceiling, letting out a twirling ring of smoke. Alfred watch it drift towards the already yellowed ceiling. Other handprints were embellished on the wall, some smaller than his, some far bigger.

Ivan sighed.

"Once we finished we never spoke of it again. We woke up and pretended nothing happened. So our lives went. Too much hardship to dwell on matters as seemingly trivial as that. Once we did try and talk about it. I got violent and said that we were stupid boys in a stupid cabin. He only had to say that it wasn't and I would have allowed myself the forbidden fruits of love. I would have plucked the fruits that in other countries hang low, their enriched juices nourishing so many loving hearts.

"And yet, I know that he was scared, too. He was kind, but also violent and liked to be the best at everything he did. He married a beautiful woman and moved to the big city. He has a job. I spoke to him a few times. We tried to uphold our friendship, but he insists that he is busy with family and children and life."

Alfred peered up at him. A bird fluttered by the window, followed by the morning sounds of the city. Had it already been so long? It seemed like only a minute ago they had plumped down on the bed after dropping their search for an apartment. They had to leave the hotel to go further into the city, where they could find another one. Hopefully one that was cheaper. Still so much to do. It was much harder to run away than Alfred had assumed.

If only time could take a step back and slow. If only it could wind down, become tranquil, compress before the big bang and wait for the lovers to stop loving. If it did that it would have to wait forever, then. Alfred demurred at the thought.

"We have to go in a few hours. And we haven't slept. Should we get some shut eye?"

Ivan shrugged. "Do you want to? A cup of coffee and I'd be fine until tonight."

Alfred rolled over, facing Ivan, his head still resting on his lap.

"Why don't you tell me about your childhood? Natalia started to say something about it."

"You wouldn't get a word out of her. She buried her past some time ago."

"And Katrina?"

"Too absorbed in the present."

"You?"

"Too far back in the past."

"So you can tell me, right?"

"I can."

"Does it mean you will?"

Ivan leaned back on the bed. "Let's pretend that the bird that flew by was only the lark. And that it sung."

"Let's."

"Before I begin, let me preface my life with a disclaimer, as if it was a book. It was hard. It was different than here. I don't want to make your problems smaller or crush them in comparison to mine. I only want to tell it as it is. Also, I haven't told anyone the story of my life."

"I'll be the first."

Ivan nodded, searching for the correct moment from where to launch his story.


	16. My Field

My Field

In the heart of a village festooned by Eastern European forests, peppered with snow in the winter, delightfully blossoming in the spring, three children were born to a poor family. The family, devastated by the war, could only do so much for the three children: two girls and one boy. For some time it seemed that it would work out, the mother thought. The father was not present.

They lived in a wooden house with two hens and a pig. The oldest girl took great care to learn how to cook and clean and tend the home. Their mother's health was failing. And although the oldest was nine and the youngest child but a babe, they were forced to grow up well before their time. The middle child, the only boy, was told to capture every chance the genetic lottery offered him, and grasp on like a lifeline. For it truly was their only way to find happiness in their tunnel of suffering, like a spot of light in the distance.

The mother passed on when the oldest turned thirteen. She, Katrina, stopped going to school. She stayed home to tend to the children. The youngest, now six, had to be cared for. The savings they used were quickly being sapped up. It seemed only the kindness of strangers could pull them out of the ditch they had found themselves quickly falling into.

For a while, it didn't happen. The reason wasn't negligence or distrust. Rather, the family stayed very quiet about the circumstances. It was odd that Katrina had left the home more often now, but many believed that she was still tending a sick mother. A few, still on that belief, brought by foods and clothing.

One couple that lived on nearly the opposite side of their town came over when they heard of a poor family of three children with the oldest sister posing as a guide, a sterling star dragging her two younger siblings on.

Katrina swept the front door, chastising little Natalia for tracking in dirt. Ivan was at school and when he finished he would go to the local butcher's to earn a few extra coins for their pockets. She held the broom, her small form almost comical next to it, and went to open the door.

The couple stood there, holding baskets and good wishes. Katrina stared up, surprised. Her face was clean, she made sure her siblings did the same, and her hair was pulled back in a spotted kerchief. Then she wore her hair in a short braid. Natalia's hair, always fine as silk, was in pigtails. She clung to her sister's skirt at the sight.

"Hello." Katrina said.

"Hello," the man with a wiry moustache said. Everything about his physique seemed worn and tired. His cheeks were whittled away to only the cheekbones. His eyes were deep-set and heavy. His voice did not match. It was jolly and good humoured. Katrina liked him immediately.

"Would you like to step in?" Katrina motioned for Natalia to go shut the door to what was once her mother's room. Natalia scamped off.

"Certainly." The couple said, entering and sitting on the cramped couches.

Wool blankets sat folded on the edge of the couches. It was hard for them to believe that Katrina was hardly fifteen, from her impeccable house keeping and manners.

"Any tea?"

They shook their heads solemnly, thanking her. Katrina set the broom aside, which she noticed she had been holding on to tightly. She walked to the couch and sat down. The shy woman spoke up first.

She approached Katrina and set the two baskets on the couch. "These are for you, my child." Her voice was so beautiful it broke Katrina's heart. The woman was as wary, if not more, than her husband. Her face still retained a cherubic, curved beauty it once had. Her eyes were bright and blue.

"I couldn't!" Katrina began, feeling gratitude flood her like a dam that had erupted. They didn't have to insist long.

She opened them. One held old clothes from their children, as well as toys and books. The other had foodstuffs, such as jars of jam, breads, cheeses, and even apples. Katrina bit her lip, her small, hardened hands gripping the edges of the baskets.

"Thank you," she said, tears dripping down her cheeks.

They asked to see her mother. She said she was too sick. They insisted. The truth came forth like leaves falling in autumn: first bit by bit, and then large clumps, and then all too quickly.

They were taken up by a woman with no children of her own for some time. Ivan and Natalia were no longer needed to work as hard. They were greeted by a stranger's kindness at an early age. Katrina, however, had no education to use. She ended up working menial labor, earning money for the household, and tending it still. She had only half the workload, and was thankful for it. She even learned English from a tutor when she had the time.

They were still far from wealthy. They still suffered, they still suffered backlashes. Natalia grew irritable and flustered. She clung to her brother, hoping for some love, but no one had the energy or time to tend to her anymore. She grew up feeling lonely most of the time. She felt unloved, betrayed, and wept incessantly. Eventually her tears frozen, dripped down to her heart, and she no longer felt sad.

Only angry.

Her time among adults in college was no better. She set up forts, she denied everyone entrance. She learned the English language, as well as French, and strived for a career totally cut off from socialisation. She hoped to make her own. She did not want to marry.

In college her wants were bent, like a hammer to a pipe. A man came her way. He charmed her, delighted her, and sent her into a frenzy of love she had desired so deeply the past years. He even asked her to marry. Then, he went away for some time on a business trip. He fell in love to another woman there and Natalia was forgotten, her brand new bridal gown never worn.

Ivan wanted to come to America, despite his love for his homeland. His struggles with sexuality tried to stamp out his success but he stuffed them away, drowning his open-mindedness and intelligence on the matter with the backwash of hatred that seemed so much easier to handle.

Katrina grew up, still tender-hearted and a hard worker by nature. Ivan brought both of them over and ended up losing a third engagement to it. It wouldn't have worked out anyway, he emended himself so not to feel too sad. It was only a ring.

A ring with an awful lot of meaning, lost in a field of life, where no wheat grew.


	17. 1000 Words and Still Not Enough

1000 Words and Still Not Enough

"Oh…" Alfred said quietly.

Ivan, now dressed and holding the luggage, shrugged. "That's how life is."

Alfred pulled on his shirt, peering out the window at a life they were prepared to lead. "It's an adventure. I'm sorry if that's insensitive."

"No, it's not." Ivan responded stiffly.

Alfred turned to him, but decided not to further explore the conversation.

They gathered their belongings and hit the road again. They drove for an hour in migraine-inducing traffic. Alfred tried not to show a rude sign to the nearby drivers, most of whom were either new drivers or middle aged. He didn't know who to feel more afraid of.

Despite the hulks of metal threatening to cut them off, they made it to the motel fine. Alfred stayed with the luggage and handled job seeking while Ivan went out to see if he could purchase a nice apartment he found. Alfred was for the thousandth time thankful that he was not a hopeless kid crazy in love. At least he was an adult with money and a college degree who was crazy in love.

Ivan came back with happy news. Everything seemed all right. They moved into the apartment, set up their home. They found jobs, everything seemed to flow so smoothly. It worked out seemingly just fine. No, better than fine. Alfred and Ivan could get married, and that they did. They marked their lives, blissfully ignoring their roots and their homes.

They set their minds on the present, on what had yet to unfold before them. They strived, they worked, they saw, they came, they conquered. They considered adopting, a child, a dog, maybe both. For a while they became serious and started seeking out adoption agencies. The prices, breaking the roof of their budgets, shocked them into waiting. And a dog was simply not in their other finite budget: time.

Their lives began to revolve around each other. Alfred discovered every nuance about Ivan and came to either love or tolerate it. He even somehow managed to get Ivan to quit smoking, a minor party of itself.

He loved so many things about Ivan:

The way he cooked

The way he often stared off at walls or oceans or skies and thought

The way he spoke calmly

The way he protected what he loved

The way he smiled at Alfred

The way he looked at Alfred

The way he held Alfred

The way he sang sometimes when he thought eh was quite alone

The way he could manage life

The way he didn't look back too often

The way he laughed: strong, sonorous

And Ivan loved so many things about Alfred:

The way his smile shined

The way he made light of even bad situations

The way he didn't forget the bad situations (he kept a picture of Matthew nearby)

The way he saw Ivan

The way he loved

The way his eyes glinted

The way he had fun, laughing

The way he took life by the horns

The way he was

A thousand things could be said and it still wouldn't be enough. Even their arguments, sometimes small, but sometimes serious, were fringed with the strange passion. Once they argued over getting a dog, which Ivan and Alfred both wanted desperately. Alfred refused towards the end of their searching.

"Why?" Ivan turned on him, flustered. "I thought you wanted one."

"Sorry, baby, I just don't think we have the time or the money."

"We're making just fine."

"It's expensive living here."

"I know." Ivan paused, casting his gaze downwards. "I know."

The argument ended and Alfred, feeling bad for having hurt Ivan's hopes that way, decided to treat him to a concert. He presented the tickets at dinner, under Ivan's plate. Ivan's eyes widened, he seemed like he would begin shedding tears. He picked up the tickets, held them as if they would vanish in a puff of gold dust. They didn't.

Alfred smiled.

They were tickets to the Russian Ballet preforming the Nutcracker. They were good seats too. Alfred had forged connections to the company and one thing lead to another.

Although the night proved to be spectacular, it blossomed into something even greater in Alfred's memory. He recalled holding Ivan's hand during the spectacle, of walking outside the theatre, of kissing in public (and having one or two people exclaim how adorable it was), and then that night how they recalled the play in delicate ecstasy.

Their life continued in this vein for five years. About the time they had settled and truly began thinking about forming a family. The past seemed to be so far back, save for the occasional visit by Gilbert, that it was ok to move on without going back and applying treatment to the old wounds that stubbornly refused to settle into scars.

Before they could fully step out of a life of occasional night clubs and difficult schedules, their lives changed again with another phone call at 10:17 pm, Friday night. Ivan and Alfred were sitting on the bed, watching a movie.

The phone rung and Alfred leaned over Ivan's body, one that he had become deeply familiar with, and picked up. He held the receiver to his head and nearly dropped it.

"Ma?"


	18. Thus With a Kiss I Die

Thus with a Kiss I Die

Alfred spoke quietly for some time, his eyes watering and his cheeks flushing. Ivan watched anxiously, his lips impassive but his eyes strained. He bit at his thumb, a habit he picked up from going cold turkey, and waited. Alfred asked questions sharply and received answers with a fallen face.

"No."

He paused. His hand snaked into Ivan's and held it. Ivan waited, staring at the television screen. Their move was paused. It was the climax when one of the characters realises that the key to all the answers literally hung around his best friend's neck. The image was hung on the main characters reached for each other, their clothing and hair whipped by the wind and drops of grey rain.

Trekking up that mountain in a storm was so much easier than talking to Alfred's mother, Ivan realised with mounting dismay. Alfred seemed to agree. He stared at the screen as he spoke, then at the ceiling, then at Ivan, when he winced, and nodded. He set the phone away, his chest hitching with broken breaths.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, all over again. It's happening all over again." Alfred whimpered. He sunk his head into Ivan's lap.

The story unfolded.

"I'm sorry, honey, for being so cruel. Won't you come home?" She had said.

Alfred said he was happily married.

He could hear the begging hope in her voice when she asked to whom.

He shamelessly told her.

She began to feel bad. She said it wasn't too far, there was still time to come back. There was still a place at home happily waiting for him. If only he could return, make Mama happy again.

He profusely refused.

She grew mad.

She threatened.

No empty threats at that.

"Then you are hereby disowned."

"Couldn't be happier than to get rid of a family that hates their dead son." He hissed.

She then said he was a thief.

That stopped Alfred. Alfred asked why. She said it was because they had put money in his account when it first started, and he had used it up.

He said he would happily give it up.

But he was disowned.

He was a thief.

A good lawyer could make it believable.

"We're ruined." Alfred whispered into Ivan's lap. Ivan placed his hand on Alfred's back.

No matter what Alfred liked to believe, he wasn't as strong as he had hoped to be. He cracked under pressure, too. He had his limits, and they were far weaker than Ivan's. Alfred was shattering. He lost his brother, his family, no everything he had worked for. He couldn't run away. The claws that reached out from that little town he called home was now biting into his flesh, dragging him back with a trail of blood at his heels.

Ivan couldn't do much to comfort him. He said they would be fine. They would take some money into his account, which they had split, and they would attempt to bring a lawyer into it. Alfred said they couldn't.

This was his mother.

"What can I do? Where can I go? There's only so much pain I can take."

Ivan bit his lip.

"You go on."

"Like you know, you ran away!" Alfred said, pulling away from Ivan.

Ivan's gaze grew cold. "I had nothing to run away from."

"Your sisters?"

"I talk to them."

"Behind my back? We agreed no secrets."

"Like that would happen."

A lover's quarrel, nothing different. Ivan reassured himself, allowing his lips to pass mean insult after insult, letting off steam and pressure that was building up in him from woe. Alfred looked ready to throw himself off a cliff.

"Like hell you care!" He spat.

"Alfred."

"Don't say that."

"What? Your name?"

"Not in that tone."

"What are you trying to say?" Ivan stood up, the movie still paused. A perfect evening turned rotten.

"I am trying to say that you have no right to chastise me. You don't even know what its like to lose your mother since you never knew her."

"I still lost her." Ivan said grimly.

"But you can't retrieve her."

"You're being awfully selfish, Alfred."

"Am I? Am I never allowed to be selfish?"

"You can be, but not right now."

"Thanks, professor."

"Alfred!" Ivan began, but Alfred had turned away, taking his coat and jeans, and slamming the door behind him. Ivan followed Alfred to the living room. "Where are you going?"

"Out for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yeah, to let off some steam."

He already seemed to have calmed down, reduced to warm tears trickling down his cheeks. Ivan approached him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Alfred pressed back, his cheeks moistening Ivan's.

"Be safe, you know it's dangerous out there." Ivan said. "Want me to come with you?"

He was happy the argument had tided over. Alfred paused, considered, and shook his head. He threw a jacket over his jeans, his chest exposed, the tattoo happily showing off an equality sign. He had decided he wanted it as blatant as possible, near his collar bone.

Ivan touched it with his fingers. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach. Something felt wrong.

"No, stay here." He said.

Alfred's face contorted. "No." He turned to the door, grabbing the handle.

"Alfred!"

"I'm taking a walk. Stop telling me what to do like I'm some sort of dumb five year old."

"It's not safe in this neighbourhood at night." Ivan said, his teeth gritting.

"I'll be fine." Alfred insisted. "I'm not a kid."

Ivan was at a loss for what to say. Alfred had a habit of making circular arguments. They would begin the conversation all over again. And why did Alfred have to take a walk now of all times? Couldn't he eat his problems away?

Alfred, feeling bad, kissed Ivan again.

"Go to sleep. I won't be long."

Ivan watched as Alfred disappeared down the steps and into the night, his hood pulled up even though it wasn't all that cold.

Ivan leaned against the wall, and decided against calling out for him. He turned back into the apartment, locking the door.


	19. Thy Lips are Warm

Thy Lips are Warm

The locker rooms, ninth grade. A kid was smoking in the corner. The smell, pungent and acidic, bothered a group of students into shuffling away. They knew better than to stand up to the kid, who had been held a year back. Had eery quality of an unwanted waif, down to the scars dripping down his lips to the base of his neck.

Alfred was pulling on his jeans and setting away his red gym shorts. He was comfortably away from other people, his eyes glued to the tiled ground where a dozen pairs of bare feet padded by. He was neared to the smoking kid when the door swung open and the gym teacher told them to hurry up, and to stop smoking.

The kid stood up and walked towards Alfred, grinning. "Sorry, sir, I was only preparing it." He said. Alfred felt his skin leap off his bones and begin to twist in fear. He stuffed his clothing into his bag and started to walk away, but felt a strong arm yank him back. He turned to face the kid.

The kid had yellowed teeth already, and rank breath. Alfred tried not to visibly hold is breath. The kid shook his head. They called him the "kid" because his real name became a fearful thing to utter.

"Ever heard of that new food their trying to make?"

Alfred shook his head. His heart was sinking.

"It's called Fried Queer. I'll show you how to make it." He spat, using the word Alfred would grow to find home as an insult. The kid tore Alfred's shirt up and pressed the burning end of the cigarette onto his back. Alfred writhed, yelping in pain.

A scar was seared to his fresh, just right of his spine.

The kid slapped his hand on to Alfred's shoulder.

"Tastes pretty fagged out to me. So I avoid it. But maybe it'll be just fine for you."

A group of boys laughed, other chuckled along uncertainly, and still others remained quiet, trying to blend into the lockers and fade away. Alfred felt shame boiling in his throat, shame where it shouldn't be. It wasn't his fault. Then, at fifteen, he barely knew what being gay really meant, except that a hell of a lot of people found it loathsome.

He hid, he tried to disappear, and the more he dug into his spirit, the more of himself he found. He quietly, or with his brother, discovered that these feelings he had cooped up out of perpetual fear (fear that would never quite go away), were natural. They were normal. They were bright and homey and perfect. Alfred embraced who he was. So what if the world disagreed?

"Some people just don't realise that they aren't the only ones in the world." Matthew had told him.

Matthew…

. . .

Ivan stared at the clock. Alfred was late. He had been recalling the stories Alfred had told him about growing up. The locker incident he described when Ivan's fingers brushed against the circular, brown scar. Alfred said it under his breath.

Alfred was really late. The thought led to Matthew, which led to Ivan's self-loathing to grow. Alfred had told him how hard it was.

_God, when I was a kid… _Alfred laughed. He joked about the burns, about the names, about the fat marker stains across his lockers saying _plumber _or _fairy_ or whatever uncreative slur came to their minds.

_Sometimes, when I think of the people who live "straight" lives and how they don't think it's bad I just want to tell them about it. I want to tell them how hard it is living surrounding in a black, smoky cloud of hatred and fear. How hard it was to live not trusting anyone, not letting anyone get to close to you, not to love people who wouldn't look at you again if they knew. Living at home in fear. Living with lies, simply lies, but lies that go so deep because the fear is a never-ending spiral of slurs, ignorance, all from other people… _

_Can't we make a device to look at each other's hearts and not our outsides? Can't we only focus on the ocean water filling our spirits, making us who we are? Letting others look at our appearances or colours or beliefs second? _

_Wouldn't it be easier?_

_And even if it isn't easier, I still love who I am, Ivan. I love being this way. So what if it's hard? So what if the world doesn't accept me? You accept me. Matthew accepted me. There is still love in the world, hidden in the nooks of each wall, in the corners of each alley, in the bottom of each bin. And each drop is worth it. _

_Because if I gave up that would be it. Hatred wins. So I'll keep searching for that love. And, I think, Ivan, I found the source right here. With you. _

Alfred had told him that on their honeymoon. He was slightly drunk, but he was clear-minded in some strange, hidden way. And he was really, really late.

And, Ivan realised, he loved Alfred. He loved Alfred more than anything. For breaking down his walls and for clawing his way through to Ivan. So he could make amends. Ivan stood and left, looking for Alfred.

He entered the darkness of early morning. He walked down Alfred's favourite path. The dread in him had turned his skin numb and his fingers cold. Somehow, he knew before he found Alfred's body on the side of the corner, before he gave a rude sign to onlookers who did nothing but gawk or walk away briskly.

He knew Alfred was dead before he checked the pulse on the scarred wrists and cut neck. He held Alfred, feeling the tears trickle down his cheeks, hot. Alfred had all the signs of a hate crime drawn across his body. From the words to the bruises to the cuts. Alfred's eyes were shut. They had slit his throat and wrists and run away, the bastards. Ivan felt hatred and anger rise up in him. So much that he didn't know what to do.

He pulled Alfred closer and kissed him. His heart sunk even deeper. _Thy lips are warm_


	20. Poor Sacrifices

Poor Sacrifices

_"I dream'd a dream to-night."_

_"And so did I."_

_"Well, what was yours?"_

_"That dreamers often lie." _

_-Romeo and Juliet, _William Shakespeare

4:00 pm

Two hours proceeding Alfred's funeral, one that Ivan held privately because he knew his parents would have thrown another fit. It was he, a couple of their newfound friends, a few activists, and Gilbert, whose mourning had turned to remembrance.

Ivan stood in his house, which he had sold. He donated their belongings. He had Alfred buried next to his twin brother. As they were in birth so in death, Gilbert had muttered, looking at the graves with fresh tears in his eyes.

Ivan nodded.

Now he was in an empty room. The floors were broad, the walls clean, the memories stored away under a carpet. He had sent a letter to his sisters, paying his respects, making amends, sending his savings. Natalia and Katrina had found husbands. Ivan smiled at the news, sorrow leaking back into his bones like constellations spangling the night sky.

Ivan left the room and went to the drug store. With his remaining few dollars he purchased potent medicine. Fly away my ills, fly, avaunt, quit my sight… But only half-heartedly. Ivan went to the mountains.

He saw the sights, the vaulting sky, the shimmering trees, the rocks, the lights, the clouds, the life, the goodness of earth, the powerful winds, the great blessings donned by Mother Nature. Ivan didn't want to make a scene. He planned it all out. He went deep into one of the forests, his car resting outside, never to be used by him or Alfred again.

He leaned next to the tree and took the medicine, letting his strength sap away. He looked towards the glittering sky, the sun piercing the leaves and spotting his face. He shut his eyes. He waited for some time.

For never was there a sorry of more woe,

than a family that would not know

Ivan's last little breathes vanished, swept up by the wind and eaten by the clouds. After all, it was all such a dream. Ivan was a dreamer. It passed by like nightly fancies, their life, now on a boat and floating away, into the endless sea.

_End_


End file.
